All Bearing Down
by sapereaude13
Summary: The Occuria wreak havoc on Ashe's life, and she is forced to go on the run. Will she be able to save her country and herself? BalthierAshe. Now rated M for adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

_Rows of houses all bearing down on me  
I can feel their blue hands touching me  
All these things into position  
All these things we'll one day swallow whole  
And fade out again and fade out_  
-Radiohead, "Street Spirit (Fade Out)"

-----

If she'd known how quickly it would all change – how easily everything she knew for certain could be ripped away and mangled. If she'd known that the burden of rule was no burden, but a blessing – known how easily favor can be withdrawn. If Ashe had known those things that morning, it wouldn't have made much difference in the long run. But perhaps she would have spent a few more moments on her balcony, taking a good long look at the bustling capital below.

She could have let her eyes drift from the aerodrome and the ruins in the west to the bustling shops and crowds of the east. She could have gazed upon her city and wished for it to be frozen in time, unchanging. Could have longed for the Dalmascan sun to warm her skin a while longer where she stood at the highest point in the city.

She could have enjoyed the way a gentle breeze swept north from the plains of Giza and brought with it the sound of trade and bartering, the sound of her people in a Rabanastre finally restored to glory. Ashe could have closed her eyes and imagined the shouts of "Long live the Queen" and "Bless Your Majesty," knowing that the words would not reach her ears for much longer.

But again, Ashe didn't know to take the extra time that morning. It was a morning like any other, hot and dry and full of meetings. She's known turmoil in her short twenty-one years of being alive, but Ashe believed that morning that it was all in the past. Her problems now involve legislation, diplomacy and the occasional well-intentioned suitor. She was the beloved savior of her people – how could they possibly turn against her?

Of course, as she stands on the balcony and smiles at her capital that morning, Ashe has no idea what is to come. Rabanastre is abuzz and free. She is free. But far to the south, those with patience have already set things in motion. The people of Ivalice have been unshackled no more than two years from their oversight.

But for those with patience – those who are truly undying – forgiveness is implausible, especially for such a transgression as Ashelia made. Though her transgression has brought about the bounty, the wealth, and the joy in the streets of Rabanastre, these things can be taken away. Those with patience do not forget the ache as the cryst was shattered far to the east – their counsel was ignored, their chosen one turned her back on them.

And so Ashe stands on her balcony that morning, her heart near overflowing with pride. The pride a mother feels for her child, for the people of Dalmasca who are her children. But the stirrings in the south will soon turn child against mother.

If only she'd taken a moment more to cherish it – and to realize how quickly it can all be taken away.

-----

The audience chamber is stifling, but from sunrise to sunset on market days, Ashe is available for petitioners who seek out her advice, permission, blessing or opinion. She is still young and doesn't mind the long hours on these days – hearing about the disputes and squabbles of the common people, the ones she will always fight for and defend more than any other, are far preferable to the petty bickering of aristocrats and ministers and diplomats. The old man seeking funds to research the Galtean architecture in the southern end of the city has been speaking for nearly an hour, and although her courtiers are bored and their fans hold their interest more keenly, Ashe is riveted.

This man is hers – a citizen of a Dalmasca that she alone governs, albeit with the oversight and advice of her council. It is her duty and privilege to hear this man's request. Does he not deserve the same respect as a diplomat from Rozarria? As a trader from Archades? As the minutes drag on, her interest in the topic of his research wanes, but her interest in the man himself remains constant. Ashe has never known love like this before – the love of country that can only be witnessed through the words and actions of its people. She remembers how hard she fought to regain that love, to free her country from the shackles of Empire. This love sustains her – she will defend and protect these people until she is old and grey. It is writ upon her heart and mind – the greatest duty, the greatest love.

She is distracted and the man has finished, his head bowed patiently awaiting her response. Ashe calls for water, not for herself but for the old man who has gone on for an hour about cornices and pediments. His eyes are grateful, and it warms her heart. She nods, granting the man's request. Dalmasca's treasury is not large, but Ashe longs to increase the knowledge of her people. She wants her court to be as enlightened as that of Raithwall long before her – bustling with scholars. She has seen in her travels that knowledge can corrupt, and so she can look on Archades as exemplar – of what can be and at the same time what should not be. Her Dalmasca must not be the desert hamlet nestled between two behemoths but a partner and an equal. And so her chamberlain notes down the allocation of gil for the man's research, and he is dismissed.

The rest of the afternoon carries on as it always does, and Ashe revels in the feeling that she is doing something good. She remembers the market day petitioning in her father's time, but as Archadia stirred, these days were withdrawn as her father spent days in his war room rather than his audience chamber. Her older ministers, the ones she has retained from her father's staff, have oft praised her for continuing the tradition.

Although Dalmasca has begun anew in these two years, memories of what worked in the past have assured Ashe a solid hold on her throne despite her rather lackadaisical stance on marriage and producing an heir. Her mother had borne four children by her twenty-first year, but then again, her mother was only a consort. Ashe believes that right now her people stand as the inheritors of the Dalmasca she is helping to build. She is too enamored with rule to concern herself with a family of her own.

She wouldn't know how to make time for a husband and children when her people are her greatest joy and care. And then there are the long hours spent in financial discussion, in military oversight, and other considerations she must oversee. How her father handled it she will never know. It is a tricky balance as is. Her maids often ask her when she will settle down with a family, but the truth is that she doesn't want to share. She has the love of her people, and that sustains her. Her uncle Halim has counseled her to be more cautious – that opinions can sway, that one bad harvest will negate any good feeling overnight. But Rabanastre prospers and grows with the love she has shown it and the love she receives in return.

The sun sets, but she sees the last few people that have queued up all day to seek her out. Her limbs ache and exhaustion leaves her weary from a day seated in full regalia, but she feels like she has accomplished much. Tomorrow, a Rozarrian delegation arrives to discuss agriculture and the building of more aqueducts – a birthday gift from Al-Cid Margrace. That will be considerably less enjoyable than meeting with her own people – especially considering that Al-Cid thinks to buy her hand with a few feats of engineering. She takes her meal alone in her chambers, dismissing the maids for the night so she can read through some drafted laws in peace.

The candles burn low as she sits in her bed, curled bits of parchment scattered across her duvet as she bites down on a pencil deep in thought. The lead scratches out a word here and there, and she scrawls in something else. The laws of Dalmasca are too archaically worded – she wants them to be simpler so that all her citizens can read and understand them.

"Do you know another way to say 'testaments of the deceased'?" she inquires aloud, knowing that he has been lurking in the shadows near the open balcony doors for some minutes now.

"Perhaps 'wills of the deceased' or 'dead' maybe?" he replies, lazily settling himself down in a cushioned seat near the window. She smiles and fills in his suggestion. Ashe sets aside the stacks of parchment and looks up to see Balthier waving politely from his chair.

"It is good to see you," she says quietly, surprised that he has taken time from his busy schedule of plundering and pirating to visit. Since her ring was returned a year ago, Balthier has stopped in to visit whenever his travels have led him to Rabanastre – that is to say no more than four times. But with the life he leads, she is grateful to see him at all. Dalmasca's current prosperity is due in large part to what he and Fran did aboard the Bahamut.

Ashe doesn't precisely know what to make of Balthier. For months, they traveled side by side, and she found herself seeking his advice more readily than the others, even Basch. She wasn't foolish enough to develop more than a friendly bond with him back then – their lives were too disparate in those days and are even further apart now. But when he visits, he brings something that she cannot experience for herself – tales of life outside of Dalmasca.

She tends to stop his stories when it comes to actual pillaging of tombs and treasure hordes, but the pirate's innate gift for spinning tales entrances her. Though she adores her country and never wishes to be parted with it for long, hearing about bar room scrapes, lush green forests, and sunsets on beaches untouched by Hume civilization fill her with joy. Balthier brings her small tokens from these places, knowing that she cannot travel as he can. She is grateful for these tiny favors.

In return, she has granted him safe haven within her borders if he seeks it. It is the most she can do to repay him for his assistance two years past and for his continued friendship now. He only visits her in secret lest someone think he is a suitor or a lover – and he is neither. Sometimes when Ashe dreams, she finds Balthier in them, but she makes sure to erase them from her thoughts as quickly as possible. Dalmasca is her love, and Balthier's is the sky. He's never gone beyond playful banter and his usual flirtations with her, and she enjoys sparring with him.

When he visits, they debate politics, literature and even food and wine. Though his visits are few, he is the closest thing she has to an actual friend. Though he remains a criminal, she respects him, and she receives the same courtesy. He rises from the chair and wanders over to the bed, settling himself down at the foot and helps himself to a stack of papers.

"Is there ever a moment of rest for you?" he asks with an incredulous look in his eyes.

She shrugs and continues scanning some documentation about setting up bazaar stalls. "I could ask the same of you. Always wandering port to port for the next great adventure."

He accepts the pencil she offers and begins to cross out a few words himself. "You romanticize piracy, Madame."

Ashe chuckles at that and watches his keen eyes dart back and forth across the parchment. "Says the man with new tales of his exploits reaching Dalmasca almost weekly." She taps the pencil against her knee. "What's this I hear about a race in the desert?"

Balthier grins, the pencil scratching the parchment as he makes his own suggestions. "No comment."

They settle into a comfortable silence, only the sound of the pencils editing legislation audible. If she'd been anyone else, she imagines that she would have fallen for Balthier. Though he fashions himself the gentleman pirate, Ashe knows that he is one of the most honorable and loyal men she has ever met. In a different life, perhaps she would have taken to the skies alongside him and his partner – but she must live the life she has been accorded. Instead, Ashe hangs on his every word like scripture, grateful that their paths have crossed at all. She would be lesser without him – he gives her perspective and pragmatism. Something more than a romantic dalliance would have ever brought the two of them.

"How is Fran?" she asks some time later, having exhausted her mental thesaurus for alternate ways to rewrite a passage about inflation and currency. The Viera has only visited her once since she and Balthier miraculously returned, and Ashe finds herself missing her. The woman's silent strength and loyalty meant a lot on her journey, and the Queen often teases her partner about hogging Fran to himself.

Balthier sets down the parchment and stretches, his wrists cracking from his efforts to help her. "At the aerodrome. Seems to think it would be rude for two to breach the security of your palace. Disrespectful, she says." He shakes his head ruefully. "Truth be told, she's near as paranoid as I am about that ship. Won't let it out of her sight now that we have it back."

Ashe smiles at the thought of the cool and stoic Fran guarding the Strahl like a snarling watchdog. "Has it been a year already?"

The sky pirate stretches out his legs, his dirty boots now making their presence known on her sheets and duvet. "It has, but that's no excuse to let my girl rest in the hangar by her lonesome. She might miss me." Ashe has always been amused by Balthier's great affection for his airship, but she supposes it is not so very different from her own views of Dalmasca and its citizens.

Ashe sighs and taps her pencil on the tip of his boot. "Balthier." He is just leaning forward to pull off the offending shoes when the pain strikes her. It feels like it comes from behind her eyes, blurring her vision and leading her to bring her hands to her temples with a whimper.

Balthier is off the bed and standing closer to where she is, his cool hand pressed to her forehead in concern. "Are you alright?" he inquires quietly, and she nods.

As soon as it arrived, the sharp pain subsides, leaving only a rhythmic throbbing. She registers Balthier's hand moving from her forehead to her shoulder. "Why are you…"

"Just lie back, will you?" he chides her, and she obeys. Ashe knows she is a horrible patient, and Balthier tends to lack a bedside manner. She remembers how stingy he was with potions on their journey and how loath she often was to admit she was in need of one. He picks the papers up and shoves them haphazardly onto her bedside table and pulls her blankets over her.

"Balthier, it is a headache. I do not require a nursemaid."

He snorts in reply and helps her adjust the pillows behind the head. "It's more than a mere headache. Did you hear yourself?"

She looks at him strangely. "Hear myself?" All she knows is how acute the pain was, nearly blinding her with its intensity, and then bringing her hands to her face.

Balthier's usually controlled countenance is now marred with worry. Ashe can barely recognize this expression, not having seen it since the seconds before he departed the Strahl for the Bahamut. He leans in close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her face, and he examines her eyes shrewdly. "I'm no medic, but a pain in the head that's loud enough to cause screaming sounds like a serious affliction."

She smiles. "Screaming?"

"You let out this bloody wail, Princess," he tells her, and her smile fades. She did no such thing…a whimper perhaps, but a scream? The pain was sharp, but not enough to cause such an outburst. "Shall I fetch a doctor?" he asks, moving away from her and crossing his arms.

Ashe doesn't know what to think, only feeling the throbbing in her head and an increasing confusion. "No, they can't know you are here," she mumbles, realizing how scandalous it all sounds. She waves her hand around dismissively. "Perhaps I just need some rest. I rose with the sun this morning."

He is still concerned, but the upward quirk at one side of his mouth reassures her that he will obey her wishes. "Very well. Sorry our time was short. As soon as I return to the aerodrome, Fran and I depart for…well, I suppose you'd rather not know." She grins at that. Balthier's eyes sparkle then, and he reaches inside his vest for a tiny vial.

He places it in her palm, and she feels her cheeks flush at the feel of his fingers brushing her skin for a few seconds. Rarely can anyone come so close to the Queen of Dalmasca. Though she is mother to all, she must remain distant at all times. Ashe cherishes any contact these days, no matter how small. She scrutinizes the vial, seeing the clear liquid splashing about. "Water, Balthier?" she inquires, his strange gift providing a welcome distraction from the ache in her head.

"Not just any water," he replies with a wagging finger. "That's melted snow from Paramina. Couldn't exactly bring it in its usual state."

She is touched by his small gesture, tightening her hold on the vial. "Thank you. It means a great deal that you would do this for me."

He moves away from the bed and back towards the shadows and the balcony. "It's no trouble," he says. "Don't work yourself so hard." In seconds, he is gone from her sight, and the headache is all that remains.

She examines the vial again sadly, rolling it back and forth across her palm. Her head continues to be bothersome, and she moves the vial to her bedside table and lies back against her pillows. Hopefully she can sleep this off and be refreshed for the Rozarrian session in the morning.

-----

When she awakens, she feels disoriented, out of sorts. Glancing down, she realizes that she has been sleeping in one of her gowns. Strange, she thinks. She was wearing a nightgown when she rested the night before. Her fingers move to the bedside table for the vial of Paramina water, and her confusion increases. The vial is gone, as are the mounds of parchment she was looking through.

Rising from the bed, Ashe staggers around her chamber – her head aches fiercely as it had the night before, but she has duties to undertake. She tugs on the chain for her maids and moves to her wardrobe to change into a new gown. The gown she is dressed in now is formal – how had she changed into it? Had she been sleepwalking?

One of the younger maids enters her chambers shortly thereafter. "Good morning, Erith. I trust this morning finds you well?" Ashe asks, poking her head out from her closet.

The maid, usually bubbly and chatty in mornings, is rather subdued. She bows, and Ashe is concerned to see the girl's chin tremble when she rises once more. Ashe approaches the girl and touches her shoulder gently. "Erith, is something wrong?" The maid cannot meet her eyes, instead shaking her head vigorously. Ashe doesn't have time for this, and she sighs. "Can you run a bath for me, please?"

The girl backs away and hurries off for the bathroom. Ashe moves out to wait on her balcony while Erith runs the water in the tub. Yesterday, Rabanastre was sunny, and today the skies are cloudy. The normally bustling courtyards below are silent, and the pain in her head returns. It is like being struck again and again, and the agony brings her to her knees. There are dark spots in front of her eyes, far worse than what she felt before.

Erith is by her side. "My lady, you are unwell."

She rises and shakes the girl off. "I am fine. Is the bath prepared?" The girl nods, and Ashe dismisses her. She'll dress herself this morning since Erith is just as out of it as Ashe feels. After her bath, she feels a bit better, and she walks through near silent halls to her council room. Hopefully she isn't too late for the Rozarrian delegation.

Opening the chamber door, she makes ready to offer apologies for any delay when she finds the room devoid of Rozarrians and instead full to bursting with her ministers and to her continued surprise, her generals and other higher ups in her military.

She moves across the room swiftly and takes her seat at the head of the table. "What is the meaning of this? Where are Lord Margrace's representatives?"

The men and women exchange concerned glances and even dare to whisper amongst themselves in her presence. She thumps the table with her fist a few times for their attention, not used to such behavior. Of course, her ministers often like to cause a bit of trouble. The members of her military remain rigid in place, but even their eyes bespeak of something amiss. "I'll not ask again – where are Lord Margrace's representatives?"

The councilors look to see who will be the first to relay whatever ill news must be delivered to her. Her defense minister speaks first, his voice grave and Ashe can almost detect fear in the usually composed man's words. "My lady must be mistaken…we received them yesterday." The other ministers look upon her then with hesitation.

Ashe smiles. It is not her birthday – is this all some elaborate joke at her expense? "Come now, where are the Rozarrians? Was their arrival delayed?"

There are more whispers, and they seem to be increasing in volume. Her finance minister regards her cautiously. "If Your Majesty is unwell, we can postpone until…"

"I am not unwell, sir. You will kindly explain the absence of Lord Margrace's party or quit my sight," she responds. She will not tolerate petty squabbling when there is business to be done. Why are they looking at her with confusion and fear in their eyes?

The defense minister raises a hand to quiet the feverish whispers. "Majesty, you sent them away."

She calls for a glass of water. Her headache continues, a dulled pounding now, but she blinks a few times since there are still a few spots in front of her vision. "That is impossible, Andante. I made no such order."

"But you did, my lady. Yesterday morning…"

Ashe pounds the table once more, the water splashing from the glass and over some of the papers that have been set before her. "Yesterday was market day. I met with my subjects, had a luncheon with a representative of the spice traders' guild, and then spent the rest of the day with my subjects."

There is silence then, a silence that carries on far too long, and she can feel her heartbeat racing. She can recall the face of everyone she met with the day before – she remembers the old man and his humble request for research funding. She recalls editing the laws, and the vial of what was once snow being placed in her palm.

"Majesty, market day was two days ago."

Ashe grips the arms of her seat. That is impossible, but their eyes do not lie. She recalls the confusion when she awoke in a gown she did not remember putting on – the absence of her papers and the vial from Balthier. "Perhaps…" she says slowly, measuring her words carefully. "Perhaps you could refresh my memory, my lords? A summary of…yesterday's events?"

There is more silence, but her chamberlain has always been honest and patient with her. He had served her father for years. The man's eyes now are saddened and almost pitying. "Majesty, when the Rozarrians arrived, you dismissed them in minutes. And then…forgive me, but you behaved out of character."

"Out of character, sir?" she inquires shakily. Has she lost a day? How is this possible? Had someone drugged her? Is there an assassin or poisoner in her midst?

The chamberlain looks around the table at the other concerned faces and frowns at her. "You declared war against Rozarria."


	2. Chapter 2

The words don't sink in for a while, and all she can do is sit in her chair and stare at the papers on her table, the water she spilt gradually smearing the ink. But as her eyes struggle to focus, she realizes that these are papers listing grievances against Rozarria – these papers are written proof that something very grave has happened to her. War? She's fought tirelessly to maintain peace and in one day – a day she lived and cannot recall – she may have negated everything.

She rises from her seat, and everyone remains quiet while she paces the room, pondering what to do. Perhaps all is not lost. "Has our intent to declare war made it outside of the palace?"

There is a shuffling of feet, and the chamberlain speaks up again. "Yes, my lady. There is…there are planned demonstrations this afternoon against your decision." She presses her hand against her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. "Surely word has reached Rozarria by now."

"What reason have I to declare war against them?" she mutters, more to herself than to her councilors. She moves to the window and looks out at her capital. No wonder the courtyards were devoid of life. She has managed to terrify her entire staff in the course of a day. And now demonstrations? She must stop this immediately.

Walking steadily to the table, she picks up the formal declaration papers and shreds them before the doubtful, pitying faces of the people in the room. The scraps litter her gown, and she tears at them until her hands ache. "My lady," her defense minister interrupts. "What are you doing?"

"I…I was not myself yesterday. We must tender apologies to the Rozarrians immediately before this escalates. Surely Dalmasca has not geared up for conflict in less than a day," she says softly, feeling the pounding in her head grow more insistent as the implications of her lost time become more and more real. Al-Cid is her friend – he will not let his father act hastily against her. She cannot even imagine what ridiculous reason her addled mind could have come up with to lash out at a country far stronger than her own.

"You had the gates of the Ianusa Temple opened."

She whirls to face her top ranking general. Ashe remembers the last time they were opened – when word of Nabudis' fall reached Rabanastre. Ianusa is the temple of war, and Ashe has longed to keep its gates closed for the remainder of her reign. How did they all obey such an irrational decision? No wonder her people are protesting. There is no more symbolic representation of a Dalmasca at war than to see the heavy iron gates wide open.

"I want them closed immediately." There is more muttering. "Stop whispering as if I am not here! There will be no war, and the gates will be closed. Seal them shut if you must!"

The military men exchange glances and depart the chamber hurriedly. She must appear to be a madwoman, and as the realization of her grave errors in judgment continue to sink in, she wonders if she is losing her mind. Her council is quiet, awaiting her next decision. She has become too powerful in so short a time – how could they have allowed her to behave in such a manner?

The chamberlain's eyes are weary. "We do as Your Majesty commands. I will dispatch messengers to the Ambervale with all haste – I just pray that the Emperor Hammad will forgive us."

Her trade advisor nods. "We rely upon their grain, my lady."

"I know this, sir," she responds irritably. "Do not speak to me as if I am ignorant of the grievous errors I've made." Ashe pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to control her temper. She cannot alienate her most trusted officials any more than she has already managed to do in one short day. "What time are the demonstrations?"

-----

Thousands throng the streets leading to her palace. She recalls the military line-up the day Rasler went off to battle, and then the horrific sight of Vayne Solidor being applauded by her people. Will she come across in the same manner? A despot seeking to court their favor? The day Vayne as consul spoke to Rabanastre, Ashe had spent the majority of the day under the streets preparing to assassinate him.

Despite Vossler's insistence that she not listen, Ashe had climbed out of Lowtown and joined the crowds. None recognized her, and she recalls how the man's words carried across the open space – the promises to respect Dalmascan tradition, to restore Rabanastre to glory when it was his Empire that had brought her low in the first place. And they had applauded him. Ashe remembers how she fled the streets in tears, not caring what anyone thought. It had only served to galvanize her against the Empire all the more.

But now she comes to speak before an angry and confused crowd as the Queen who has abruptly declared war against a friend. Will they harangue her as they did Vayne when he first began to speak? They shouted for him to return to Archades – how will they curse her? Will they ignore her pleas for forgiveness? Will they ever look upon her favorably again after she has unknowingly and unwittingly caused such disquiet?

She's had a platform placed in the center of the square, choosing to stand amongst them all when she apologizes. It places her in a more vulnerable position, but she does not care. She has wronged that which means the very most to her – she must face the consequences. A retinue of guards marches ahead, having the people move aside as she marches resolutely to the platform.

Their words sting harshly as she moves through her people – the same people who humbly sought to petition her days before. Each person's words write themselves upon her heart, and she knows she will carry them as scars for the rest of her life.

"We cannot go to war, my lady, I beg you…"

"I lost both of my sons in the last war…how can you…"

"The Rozarrians will enslave or murder us…unless they would see us starved, Majesty!"

She must bear it all, and her eyes burn with tears. Ashe rises to the platform, and she looks out at the hurt and confused faces of her people. Some have hand painted signs begging her to call off this war. She sees the innocent faces of children atop their parents' shoulders and would give anything to have her lost day back.

"I come before you first to make it absolutely clear that there will be no war with Rozarria," she shouts, her voice straining to make itself heard amongst the protesting thousands. "I was in error, and I am here to beg your forgiveness." A Queen cannot show weakness – she must be strong for her people, but she cannot in good conscience speak to them without seeking absolution.

They are stunned into silence, but where she expects them to say or do something – curse her or praise her – they do nothing. Instead they are riveted to her as she walks in circles, trying to let her eyes reach as many faces as she can. The sun beats down hot on her, and her headache returns harsher than ever. But she must press on.

"I acted without thinking, and for that I am ashamed. I did not act with your wishes at the forefront of my mind, and that is inexcusable. Dalmasca is devoted to peace, and so am I. Please, return to your businesses. There will be no war."

The crowd finally begins to disperse, the signs pulled down and some smattering of applause and shouts of "Long live Your Majesty" reaching her ears. There is still doubt in their faces, and she cannot blame them. She doesn't even remember declaring war in the first place, and perhaps it is time to see a doctor.

When she turns around on the platform to return to the palace, her vision blurs again. The guard who rushes to her side is doubled in front of her eyes. The sun bakes her skin, and she cannot breathe. She hears the murmurs of the guards as she feels herself sink to her knees, and they seem to be arguing whether or not they can carry her without violating her sacred and untouchable status as their Queen. The voices sound like they are underwater, or perhaps it is she who is drowning. Closing her eyes against the pain, her body shakes and she smacks her palms against the wooden platform that was erected for her speech.

Some of her subjects have remained around the dais, and their concerned voices mingle with the continuing shouts of her guards. Finally she feels gloved hands on her arms and shoulders, and voices beg her to stop screaming. Has she been screaming? All she can think of is the disappointed looks on the people's faces, the people whose Queen is no longer herself.

-----

There is a pulsing light, and its blinking is the only illumination she can see. Somehow, her limbs are not responding of her own will, and she feels drawn to this light. As her footsteps carry her along this invisible path, there is a chiming like bells as her foot makes contact with whatever lies beneath her. There is a hum in the air, and she does not merely hear it – she feels it. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end, goosebumps rising on her flesh as she releases shuddering breaths.

The light blinks slower as she comes closer, but it is blinding. Her feet continue to act of their own accord, and Ashe realizes that this must be a dream since she has no control over anything. She knows this place, has walked these paths before, but she cannot recall when. She closes her eyes as she draws closer still to the end of her path, and when she opens them again, she knows where she has been drawn.

She is in the sky on a rounded floating platform, not so very different from the one she used to address her people – but larger. And this one has massive stones – and she knows that these are not mere stones. Ashe has never had dreams of this place since Bahamut fell, so why would her mind pull her back here?

Far below the platform and others like it that hover mysteriously in the skies, the ancient city of Giruvegan sleeps. Ashe can almost imagine the harsh light within its walls, the glowing crystal in the center and the steps dripping with flowing water. But for now she resides above, the stones quiet and still. Stepping forward, she wonders if the one who spoke to her two years ago, Gerun, will speak with her again.

Of course, Ashe wonders why she is even here. The Occuria hold sway over Ivalice no longer – the Sun Cryst in Ridorana was destroyed. She moves to rest her hand on the stone she remembers to be Gerun's and where she expects it to be cool, it burns her fingertips. There is a flash before her eyes, and she is once more blinded.

But she can hear their voices in her head, Gerun's loudest. They speak in a language Ashe doesn't know well, something far more ancient – the words that Fran could read so easily at the Pharos, words etched in the many pillars scattered through the building. Finally, Ashe listens more closely, and while the voices of the others are still unclear to her, Gerun's language changes, reflecting Ashe's own native tongue as it had when the Occuria had addressed her previously.

"Look upon Giruvegan, Ashelia B'Nargin."

She cannot open her eyes. "I am unable to see."

"Look with your mind," the gravelly but still ethereal voice demands. Ashe visualizes the city below, the enormous crystal pulsing rhythmically like the beating of her own heart. "Though Cryst be rent asunder, we Occuria have not departed these lands."

She tries not to let the implications of that break her spirits. Destroying the Cryst was the wisest decision she ever made. "I care not," she replies steadily, though her heart is pounding like it had before in the presence of those undying.

"Blade was given, yet you turned your back on those who would have given you power unknown."

Ashe remembers the Treaty-Blade, how the falsified image of Rasler coaxed her to pull it into her hands on this same platform. She also remembers how she set it down at the Pharos, hoping it got blown apart when Reddas took the Sword of Kings to the Cryst. "Such power is easily abused. I would be no slave to your whims."

"Words of a Hume child, to be sure. But slave you are and shall remain."

Gerun's words vanish from her mind, as do the voices of the other Occuria, their hissing, foreign sound stopping abruptly.

She awakens.

-----

Ashe does not recognize the chambers she is in. Rising from the sheets with a sick feeling deep within her belly, she knows that she is not in Rabanastre – but nor is she in Giruvegan. Despite being a dream, the ancient city of the undying ones seemed as real as the stone floor and woven rugs now beneath her feet.

The room is austere, windowless and devoid of most creature comforts. When she reaches the door, she is angry to discover it is locked. The wood is solid, but she thumps her fists against it until she is already bruising. "Let me out!" she cries. Where has she been taken? And how much time has she lost now? Gerun's words about enslavement trouble her – are the Occuria the ones responsible for her irrational acts?

She is rewarded and shocked by the clanking sound in the halls – the sound of heavy metal armor that no Dalmascan soldier ever wears. How in Ivalice had she gone from the platform in the center of her capital to Archades? The clanking passes her door and moves on despite her insistent pounding on it. Her fear increases – what has happened? She is locked away, out of her own country. What has she done?

"I want to see Judge Magister Gabranth!" she screams loud enough for it to ache in her lungs. "I am the Queen of Dalmasca, and you will bring him to me!" Her hands pain her, but she beats on the door until she no longer can. Moving away to the bed, she lies back and tries to prevent tears from falling. Has she been cast out of her own country – forcibly removed from power? She needs to see Basch – he has always shown her kindness and loyalty, something obviously lacking in Dalmasca at present, but most likely for good reason.

The minutes pass, but finally she hears a key being turned in the lock. She wipes at her eyes hastily and rises. A familiar set of Judge armor greets her vision then, but she stays in place as Basch locks the door and pockets the key. He keeps the Judge's helmet on, and she longs to look upon him, to seek his counsel and to see whether his eyes fear her.

"Take off the mask," she demands quietly, gripping the bedpost to stay standing. His body language is defensive, but he obeys her and sets the heavy helmet down on the cheaply constructed wooden table in one corner of the room. She looks upon her friend, not having seen him for months, and is grateful to see not anger in his eyes, but a profound sadness. "Basch, what have I done?"

His face is composed as it usually is, but there is no denying that he sees her in some different light now. "I cannot presume to know all that has transpired, my lady, but you have been here in Archades some three days now."

"Three days?" She sits down on the bed – it feels like only minutes have passed since she was struck down with that headache in the middle of her own capital city. "I swear to you by everything I know that the last thing I recall is being in Rabanastre. I was addressing my people and…"

"If you speak of the day following your intent to declare war, that was eight days ago."

"Eight days," she murmurs aloud. "I have lost eight days…"

Basch stays in place, his eyes still watching her shrewdly. "You truly have no recollection of what you have done in all of that time?"

She glares at him, gripping the bed sheets tightly in her fists. "Do I appear at all well to you, Basch?"

"I must admit that your behavior now is a far cry from the state you were in upon your arrival here."

He is cautious with his words, perhaps trying to ascertain if she speaks the truth. She must have done something so horrifying that he cannot speak of it yet. Has Rabanastre been annihilated by Rozarria because of her own belligerence? Have any of her people perished because she cannot maintain control over her own actions? What have the Occuria done – how harsh has their revenge against her been?

"You will tell me everything you know. Not as Judge Magister, but as a true and loyal friend," she orders him, begging him to sit beside her. To let her know that he is not afraid to be near her – she cannot afford the loss of his trust as she has probably lost the trust of her people.

Basch remains standing, and it pains her greatly that he will not move closer. "Word from Rabanastre is conflicting at present. We received notice of your surprising announcement against Rozarria which was then followed by news that you had called it off suddenly."

"Has war been averted?" she asks shakily, begging for him to tell her it is so.

He cannot meet her eyes. "In some ways, yes…and in others…" Basch rubs his chin nervously. "Your erratic behavior made little difference to Emperor Hammad. While Al-Cid was able to convince him that you had made an error in judgment, he was not so very lenient." Ashe stares at the floor, awaiting the news. "In response to your hasty diplomatic blunders, Rozarria has temporarily ceased all trade with Dalmasca."

She stands. "But we rely upon our imports of their foodstuffs!" A trade embargo is almost worse than a war. But she can see that Basch has still not completed his tale. "I honestly recall none of this, Basch…please, what happened?"

He finally looks at her once more, and the words seem to be difficult for him to speak. "You did not react favorably to this news. You expelled any Rozarrian immigrants from your borders and cut off talks." Ashe caused so much harm in a manner of days? "And although Rozarria has carried out no further threats, the citizens in Rabanastre were not…amenable to your continued behavior."

She recalls how doubtful her people had all still appeared when she had addressed them in the square. It feels like only a short time ago, but it has been over a week since then. "Was I overthrown?"

He shakes his head. "Not exactly, although there is talk reaching us here in Archades to that effect." Basch finally moves to her side, and she hopes it is because he is sympathetic to her plight. "You would see no doctors, my lady. You lashed out at your ministers, verbally and…I'm afraid to say, but physically as well. When word of Emperor Hammad's decision spread through your capital, there was rioting and you had them broken up with force."

It tears her heart in two to hear this. Without Rozarrian trade, her people will be vulnerable to starvation if they did not receive the usual grain shipments. Rioting in Rabanastre against her? And she had them dispersed? "Was anyone harmed in the rioting?"

Basch's hand grips hers tightly then, offering her a fraction of his strength. "Seven hundred dead, another few hundred injured." She is numb now, ashamed and appalled. "Many of them children."

Tears stain her cheeks. "And Archades? How did I come to be here?"

"When the rioting calmed down, you seemed to have a change of heart. You boarded your transport and came directly to have an audience with Lord Larsa."

She is grateful that even under the influence of the Occuria or whatever madness had possessed her, she was able to see reason and reach out to her ally. She is also happy to learn that she left Rabanastre before she caused it any more distress. Hopefully her ministers are working to correct her errors. "I sought his aid? To bring grain to Dalmasca and to negotiate with Rozarria?"

Basch's thumb strokes her hand gently. "So we had been led to believe, but when you arrived you…" She closes her eyes, not wishing to hear any more, but she must. How much more harm had she caused her people? "You cursed Larsa and spat on him. You called him a false Emperor and shouted that you would make war with Archadia. We…we had you restrained here in the dungeons and here you have been for three days. I am sorry, my lady."

She has lost all of this? She will never remember these shameful deeds, but the whole of Ivalice will. "Do not apologize to me, what I have done is unforgivable."

"We had doctors examine you, but they found nothing wrong."

Ashe nods. "It is the Occuria – they are stealing time from me, Basch. You must believe me."

He withdraws his hand and rises. "I will inform Lord Larsa of your repentance. I am sure there is some explanation – perhaps you have been overworked and overtired with…"

She grips his arm, the cool metal armor digging into her palm. "I have given you the explanation! I have been…possessed, enslaved, whatever you wish to call it. I dreamt I was in Giruvegan, and their leader, Gerun…she spoke to me."

Basch moves to the table and grabs his helmet. "I will tell Lord Larsa this, but you know as well as I that the Cryst is destroyed. We want you to get well – for the sake of your people, and the sake of yourself." He moves to the door and glances back at her. She knows he doesn't believe her – he thinks she has gone mad. "Please get some rest, Ashelia."

As he departs, she bangs on the door again. "You must believe me! Please!" His footsteps trail off, and she knows she has lost him. If their roles were reversed, she'd probably react in a similar way. Sinking to the floor, she finally lets herself truly cry – for the damage she's caused her country and people and for the bonds she has broken with those closest to her. Her eye catches then on the small table where Basch's helmet had lain for those few minutes.

Rising to her feet, she shuffles over and smiles sadly at the vial of water sitting on the table. Ashe surely hasn't lost everyone's support yet. If Basch and Larsa will not believe her, then she cannot stay in Archades. She certainly cannot go back to Rabanastre – she would do more damage or be run out of the city by her own subjects. Picking up the former snow and rolling it in her palm, Ashe realizes that she must break more bonds before she can even begin to fix them. She must become invisible.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, she finds herself in the same place, and she has no way to measure the amount of joy that realization brings her. Perhaps the Occuria cannot reach so far, or maybe they think they have damaged her enough. No matter, she is determined to take matters into her own hands once more – she will be no servant of the Undying. Where her head had been pounding on her last lucid days, she feels lighter and freer. Of course, what has been done in her capital because of her weakness and inability to break away from Gerun's control still weighs on her thoughts every other moment.

There is naught she can do to erase the reality of the harm she has caused her people, but she cannot wallow in remorse – instead she must act. Ashe spent hours the day before in contemplation, planning her next course of action. The life of a fugitive is not unknown to her, but in these two years, her face is more easily recognized. But that is all ahead – first she must make way from Archades and that alone is a big undertaking.

Diplomatic meetings have familiarized her with Larsa's palace these past few years, but the dungeons are unknown to her. However, the courtyards just above them are not. Once she emerges from this cell, she needs only navigate the labyrinthine passages she is sure to encounter and from there she can escape. But where will she go? She knows she must find Fran and Balthier, that much is certain – but they could be anywhere, and word of her escape will spread quickly. Ashe hopes that time spent in an underground resistance as well as her months among notorious sky pirates will aid her.

A tray of food is brought, and she thanks the guard as kindly as she can. Who knows how she treated him in her missing time? Before he departs, she begs him to stay a moment longer. "Sir, is there a way I could meet with Lord Larsa this morning?"

The guard shrugs. "I am not sure, my lady. I am not the one to speak to about such things."

She picks at the meal she has been brought, a lavish breakfast that no normal prisoner would receive, and she is ashamed of how she must have treated Larsa. "Then if I might see Judge Magister Gabranth again? It would mean so much to me…and to my recovery from this illness."

The man shifts from foot to foot nervously, the knowledge that she is clearly unwell seeming to be widely known in Archades or at least in Larsa's palace. "I will speak with him, you have my word." Ashe nods gratefully and the guard departs, the key turning in the lock once more. Whether it is to keep her safe or to keep the rest of the world safe, Ashe isn't entirely sure – but she has a feeling that the latter is what Larsa has decided.

The hours pass away, and she forces herself to eat the food prepared for her. She does not need to insult her ally and young friend any more than she already has. She also knows that it may be the last truly nourishing meal she will eat for some time. There will be no trays of delicacies once she is freed of this prison – no wine and other luxuries. Bread and cheese perhaps, and depending on how long it takes her to find Balthier and Fran, she will have to ration it strictly. She will have to keep to herself and cannot afford to be seen in marketplaces buying food.

She traveled light to Archades, only clad in one of her heavier gowns because it is winter in the more temperate climes of the Empire. Beneath she has thinner petticoats, and she will not appear too out of place in them. She must sell the gown – there are some jewels sewn into the bodice and cuffs. Ashe is grateful that even in madness she made sure to wear some jewels in her ears and on her fingers – they can also be sold.

Hopefully she can make her way out of Archades proper quickly. She will sell her things in Old Archades and pray that her transactions are completed before a streetear catches wind of a woman selling jewels in a poor district. Once she has enough money, she will travel on foot to Balfonheim – she cannot afford to be seen on an airship, nor does she have means of identification. If she moves quickly, she can be through the caves in two days, Tchita in two more and then Cerobi in another three.

She smiles, knowing that her journey will go much faster without a sky pirate apprentice trying to attack every fiend within a hundred yards. Ashe wonders what will happen if she fails to find Balthier and Fran – does she dare seek out Vaan and Penelo? Shaking her head sadly, she knows that she cannot burden them with it. They are Dalmascan citizens and to aid a renegade runaway Queen would bring them unnecessary trouble. Balthier and Fran on the other hand seem to work best when the stakes are high, although she hopes that her mind will remain her own. They are the last people she can trust. She cannot afford to drive them away.

It all seems like a remarkably sound plan, but she still sits in a cell. Thinking ahead to what she will do when she is free helps her to avoid thinking about what she actually must do to escape. There's a probability of failure, surely, and she hopes that she will be able to overpower him. Of course, knowing that Basch would never strike her is keeping her calm – but the Basch she knows sees her differently now. Will he take extra precaution in her presence? Would he let her even come close?

It pains her to know that she must hurt her friend to save herself, but the need to get away outweighs that. She hopes he will forgive her – when she figures out how to cease the Occurian threat looming over her, she will have much apologizing to do. The guard has kept his word, and Ashe feels her heart quicken its pace as the sound of metal armor announces Basch's arrival.

The key turns in the lock, and she knows that she still has time to change her mind. Time to let herself face punishment from the Archadians and her own people. Although she does not remember her crimes, hundreds have died because of her. She should face justice, but what if the Occuria try for a new target? What if Larsa is seized with these uncontrollable impulses? Worse still, what if the Emperor Hammad in Rozarria is? Ashe knows that she must put a stop to it before others perish – it is the only way she can atone for what she has done. Once that is done, she vows to face the reality of her crimes.

Basch enters the room, and she stands by the table. "Thank you for coming," she says quietly while he locks the door and sets his helmet down as he had the day before. His eyes are weary, and she supposes that he is still unsure of what to believe.

His voice is unsteady, weakened and very much unlike him. "Your Majesty, word has arrived from Dalmasca. They have asked…" He looks away from her and frowns. "They have demanded that Lord Larsa send you back to stand trial for your actions."

Ashe tries to keep the fear from her voice. "I understand. I will cooperate." Basch moves to sit in the chair at the table, and she keeps her eye on the hard, unforgiving metal of the helmet. She doesn't really want to do it – not like this, but he is a lot stronger than she is, and this is probably the only way to knock him out. "When am I to leave?"

Basch drums his fingers on the wooden tabletop nervously. "Lord Larsa has promised to send you back with a full escort, myself included, tomorrow morning. I'm actually here to escort you to Lord Larsa's personal doctor so that you can explain your…visions or dreams."

This will be trickier than planned if there is a doctor awaiting their arrival shortly. She must work quickly. Ashe clasps her hands behind her back to stop them from shaking and waits for him to let his guard down. Then it's all a matter of timing. Tears threaten to form in her eyes at the thought of striking her friend down, but she does not require a doctor's prodding. She must instead leave this place – if she returns to Dalmasca, who knows what the Occuria will have her do? If she can plan to knock out a trusted friend in a moment of lucidity, who knows what she could be capable of under the Undying's trance? Hundreds are dead in Rabanastre already.

"I am truly sorry for the trouble I have caused both Larsa and yourself. You may not believe what I have told you, and in truth, I would be just as doubtful were our roles reversed…" He hangs on her words, and she puts as much regret into her speech as she can – not that it is so difficult with the depth of the remorse she feels. She rambles on about something or other, the words flowing from her like water in the Nebra, and she tries her best to close the distance between herself and him without alerting him to what she is planning.

She is within reach of the helmet, and he sighs. "My lady, I truly wish I could believe you, but the things you have done…"

This cracks her resolve, and she cannot believe he is so convinced of her guilt. "How can you think me capable of harming my own people?" Ashe uses this outburst to slam her hands angrily on the table, his helmet rattling slightly.

"It is probably not so very different from the way of things a few years back. Most were quick to assume my guilt as well," he responds quietly, but she knows why he cannot fully commit to the idea she is sane. In his case, it was mistaken identity – his brother slew her father, not Basch himself. Ashe has no such excuse. She is startled then to see his eyes staring desperately at her, piercing and determined.

"You mustn't do this, Majesty."

He has found her out. He knows exactly what she has been planning since he entered the room, and if she doesn't act now, her window of opportunity will have vanished. Basch flinches as her fingers curl suddenly around the Judge's helmet, and her aim is true as she strikes the side of his head. It all seems so strange, watching him fall from his chair and onto the stone floor of the holding cell, his armor crunching and the cape shrouding him.

Basch has fallen onto his side, and she kneels down, turning him onto his back. She's managed to cause a cut on his brow, not so far from the scar he already has, and she has to bite down hard on her knuckle not to cry out in self-hatred for what she has had to do. Ashe lets her fingers drift down over his face, watching a trickle of blood stain his hair.

Her hand is trembling as she strokes his cheek, her tears falling from her face to his. "I am sorry, I am so very sorry," she mutters, trying to beg forgiveness from an unconscious man. But she remembers then that this doctor is expecting them, and she knows she must leave. Ashe gets her clothing in order and ensures that she has all the jewelry she brought on her person. A quick glance around the room assures her that she has everything.

When her eyes meet the bedside table, she sighs. Almost everything. Her fingers close around the vial of water tightly, and she slips it inside her bodice, keeping it near her heart. It is a rather sentimental gesture, but then again, she wore a dead man's ring for two years – she is prone to it. At the very least, keeping the vial close will be a constant reminder of what she must seek out. She takes one last look at her friend lying on the floor and prays that someone will find him quickly to stitch the wound.

Her face is stained with tears as she stumbles into the hallway, grateful to see that it is devoid of life. Apparently Larsa has ordered some measure of privacy for this part of the dungeon, and she is thankful for it even though the young Emperor will probably regret it now. She steps as quietly as she can, hoping that the path she has chosen will be the quickest to the courtyards above. Her nerves are about shot, but she must work on pure adrenaline if she is to make it out of Archades successfully.

She gets lost in the endless corridors, but fortunately they are empty, and she has not yet heard any cries that she has escaped. Finally, she spies a staircase of spiraling stone at the end of one hall, and she hurries over. So much of Archades is metal – she recalls the confusing passages of the Draklor Laboratory in particular, and also the difficulty of navigating the Empire's ships, having been prisoner aboard one of them as well. So it is curious to be held in a simple stone dungeon – but as she climbs, she is grateful. The stone is warm beneath her palms as she holds to the walls as she goes up, desperately trying to stay upright lest she collapse from the stress of it all.

There is a wooden door at the top of the staircase, and she prays that the courtyards she knows lie on the other side. Has someone been posted at the top or has Basch dismissed them? If the Judge Magister was set to remove her from the dungeon and take her to a doctor, perhaps he was kind enough to ensure that this would be done in as much privacy as possible? Letting her sweaty palm rest on the door latch, Ashe breathes in and out several times and closes her eyes. When she crosses this threshold and sneaks out of the palace grounds, she will be a fugitive – will they hunt her down? Will there be a bounty on her head as large as Balthier's? Higher still?

Her thumb taps against the latch rhythmically, weighing her decision. She has already knocked Basch unconscious – the proverbial ram has touched the wall, she decides. There can be no turning back now that she has escaped the cell and made her way here. Ashe grips the latch and pushes, exhaling as the wooden door creaks open and her eyes are greeted with a cloudy sky and the towering palace of the Archadian emperor.

Even with the heavy gown, the air is chilly, and she can see tiny snowflakes drifting through the manicured lawns and hedges of the courtyard. There are guards at the far end, but thankfully, they are not looking at the dungeon entrance. She takes a few seconds to get her bearings, doing her best to walk quietly across the crushed gravel footpaths that crisscross the courtyard in between the bushes and flower beds. Crouching behind a rather large hedge, she feels rather ridiculous, but she would rather look a fool than be discovered.

To the best of her knowledge, the hedge runs parallel to one of the inner walls of the palace compound – and unlike her own palace, Larsa's is far above the remainder of Archades, perched at the top of what was probably once a grand hill but is now a clustering of governmental buildings and offices. She cannot simply scale a wall in broad daylight – there are too many people on the grounds for something like that, but her absence from the dungeons will not go unnoticed for long.

Instead, she must think less like a Queen and more like a gardener. Ashe continues to walk crouched over, letting her hand brush against the cold stone palace wall as she makes her way to the tiny storage shed she knows must house trimming shears, seed for plants and other necessities to keep the palace grounds in top condition. There are no guards or landscapers hovering near this building, and she is happy to discover it is unlocked. Not so surprising considering that the palace grounds are strictly patrolled and monitored – it would be unlikely someone could breach the external perimeter to even get a chance to wander into the courtyard she's presently in. Well, she thinks in amusement, Balthier probably could. She wonders if he ever feels as terrified sneaking around as she does right now, and she shakes her head. Of course not – the man is not even afraid of death, or he is very good at hiding it.

Closing the door behind her as quietly as she can, Ashe sighs at what she has sunk to. A small metal locker yields a pair of mud-stained trousers and a heavy woolen coat with threadbare elbows, but a sturdy hood. The Archadian Emperor's gardening crew must be prepared to trim hedges in all sorts of weather, she imagines. She slips out of her gown and petticoats and stuffs them less than gracefully into a large canvas sack that is littered with scattered grass clippings. She keeps her jewels on and ties the bag closed. She must hurry to the servants' exit before the palace goes into lockdown – only a few minutes, she wagers.

Ashe sighs and looks at a pair of trimmers left out on the work table. Her hair has grown considerably in the past two years in her life of luxury, and it must go. The clippers aren't much larger than a pair of sewing shears, and she grips a handful of hair and brings the grass-stained blades to it. Ashe chops at it haphazardly, strands of her straw-colored hair falling to mingle with the mud on the floor. She's sheared it to her chin, not much different from the way she'd cut it when she lived beneath her streets – days when she had little time to care for long tresses with ribbons.

She doesn't waste time mourning the loss of her locks and pulls the hood up over her face. There is some potting soil in a small satchel on a shelf, and Ashe rolls her eyes. Thrusting her hands into the pouch, she smears some of it on her nose and cheeks, dirtying herself like a proper gardener. Feeling the bits of soil under her fingernails repulses her, but she'll blend in with Old Archades far better with chapped, filthy hands.

Her transformation complete, she hoists the sack of her clothes onto her back and hopes that she won't look too strange emerging from the gardening shed. If her father could see her now, he would have ensured that Dalmasca would have changed to a republic rather than continue as a monarchy upon his death. Ashe opens the door and sees that there are still no groups of soldiers racing around the grounds shouting that she has escaped – she needs only make it to the gate just beyond the next hedge.

There is a guard here, looking bored and rather cold despite the heavy plate armor. Ashe is grateful for the heavy coat she obtained, and as she approaches, she hopes that the guard will be less than attentive to his duties. Of course, Ashe would never hire guards that lacked the ability to do their jobs, but in this case, she prays that Larsa's hiring staff has erred greatly.

The man sees her approach and opens the gate. "That you Madgie?" he calls out, and Ashe has to keep walking although his loud voice has nearly frozen her in place. She has never been able to successfully imitate the sound of the Archadians, the clipped accent and impertinent tones that they all seem to possess. Even kindhearted Larsa could sound like an obnoxious prat at times, and she didn't even dare ponder the arrogance implicit in every word Balthier uttered. Instead, Ashe chooses her mother's tones, the softer and more exotic sounds of Dorstonis. Though she speaks no more than a schoolgirl's Bhujerban, the accent is more easily recalled.

"She sent me to fetch her potting soil," Ashe lies, praying that the guard will not hear Dalmasca in her words and that the lie is suitable enough to get her through the gate. How can sky pirates like Balthier and Fran do this sort of thing day in and day out? She keeps her hood up as she comes face to metal with the cold, sterile soldier's helmet.

He moves aside and waves her ahead. "Using the Emperor's garden supplies for her own shrubs now, eh?" The guard's chuckles are muffled by the helmet, but Ashe breathes as evenly as she can to disguise the joy that is suffusing her whole person. "Definitely sounds like Madgie. Off you go!"

Ashe nods in thanks and sees only the narrow passageway from the servants' exit. Only one more gate awaits her at the bottom of the hill. Rather than chance a sky cab at the front of the palace grounds, Ashe feels the servants' paths to the less affluent reaches of Archades will serve her purpose better. The gate is only a few hundred paces away, and from there she can reach the outskirts of Nilbasse within the hour if she keeps to the back alleyways. There will be more ardents running about there begging for bits of information, and she will blend in.

She hears the gate close behind her, and she quickens her pace a bit. The more ground she can put between herself and the palace once they discover her missing, the better. The soldier at the second gate also confuses her with this Madgie, and the potting soil excuse is good enough as well. Whenever she regains her place and the world is set to rights once more, Ashe will be sure to enlighten Larsa regarding the security issues on the grounds of his palace.

The wind is much more biting in the narrow stone alleyways that line the back of the higher class reaches of the capital. On either side of the walls lie the grand mansions of aristocrats, theatres and opera houses, and the Akademies that educate the wealthiest few of the Empire. But Ashe walks in between, her feet dodging piles of trash and those homeless dozens that have managed to sneak away from Old Archades to live off of the scraps thrown out by the city's elite.

Her gowns weigh heavily on her back, and she wonders if she'd be better off tearing the jewels from the bodice of the dress now. She'd be able to move faster and would look less suspicious. She turns a corner and can only see a few sleeping poor huddled in the distance. Ashe crouches down and takes out the beautiful dress, one of the few heavier ones she owns since Dalmasca is not the place for it. The cuffs are sewn with pearls, and she yanks them off, sending a few of them scattering down the alleyway.

She stuffs them into the pockets of the coat and attends to the pearls in the other cuff. Surely the palace has been alerted now – will the guards mention the young gardener who departed the premises only minutes ago? Ashe quickens her pace, pulling the silk-laden bodice onto her knees. She tugs on the shining emeralds and rubies with her filthy fingers, shoving the jewels into her pockets hastily. When she has torn as many as she thinks she needs, she stuffs the gown back into the sack and considers her options.

She has the trousers and coat, and underneath the coat, she has only a thin shift. If anything, she will not be very warm and might catch cold on her journey to Balfonheim. She lets her eyes drift over the petticoats and other things in the sack and decides that a runny nose is more bearable than life in a dungeon. Ashe rises to her feet and shoulders the sack briefly, only to set it down in a large metal bin filled with trash from a theatre. Fliers advertising the latest play now mingle with the Queen of Dalmasca's garments as the Queen herself shoves her hands into her pockets for warmth and lets her fingers flit over pearls and jewels. She keeps walking.


	4. Chapter 4

Nilbasse lies ahead; she can tell by the increase in dirt coating the walls of the alleys. The Archadian elite even have clean alleys, and Nilbasse is home to those who seek to one day live in places with clean alleys. There are more people around now – more to blend in with, but more that might recognize her. Luckily, the bitter cold of the Archadian winter keeps most eyes to the ground as her face chaps from the winds and her teeth chatter – she's never been very well-accustomed to colder climes.

She has more problems now – the path from the palace has led her down and down on a straightforward path, but Nilbasse and the other mercantile districts are full of dead-end streets with any charlatan worth his salt willing to misdirect those who don't belong. Ashe had Basch to keep her safe the last time she wandered the less reputable streets of the Archadian capital. She is not used to being entirely alone, and although she is quite skilled with a blade, she knows hand to hand combat isn't her strongest suit. Hopefully, the winter chill will keep the cutpurses and scoundrels away.

Ashe must keep her wits about her if she is to make it to Old Archades where her face is less likely to be known. She keeps the coat tightly fastened around her, and her shoes – her too-fancy shoes – click as they make contact with the cobblestones. Why hadn't she thought to switch her shoes? She makes a mental note to purchase some sturdy boots along with some protectives and food in the slums. The chill whips through her hood to rest on her neck where her hair only barely brushes the nape now.

There is the clanking of metal several paces away, and she knows that her escape must have become known at last. The soldiers who usually patrol the streets of Nilbasse are now racing, and she tries to remain inconspicuous. They probably think her some fool and expect to see a woman in a jeweled gown – hopefully her disguise will help to avoid their questioning. Two soldiers come charging down the back alley then, but the only person they accost is a woman a few years older than her who made the mistake of wearing a rather fancy gown out in the cold that day. Ashe presses on as the woman denies that she is Queen Ashelia, and she wonders if Basch would know where she would go.

The guards who usually remain at attention between Archades proper and the slums are nowhere in sight when she emerges from the alleys, and she slips down the stairs with ease. The Archadian military is often less disciplined when crossing that threshold, and she knows that the denizens of the area are more likely to strike up conversations and distract the soldiers in hopes of gaining admission to the city beyond. Ashe passes dozens of people shivering in the streets and even though Larsa has championed the rights of his poorer citizens these past two years, there are still many who starve and lack homes.

The winter in Archades greatly shortens the daylight hours, and already Ashe can see the skies turning a deeper bluish gray signaling both the coming night and a probable blizzard. Luckily, she will spend the next few days in Sochen where the snow will not reach. There is a shop at the end of the current row, and she enters as casually as she might. She will not sell all of her jewels in one shop – it would be far too suspicious, and it is unlikely that she would be able to get all of the gil they are worth. She will save much of it for when she obtains lodgings in Balfonheim and any other places she must travel to if she cannot find Balthier or Fran there.

A grizzled old man sits behind the counter snoozing, a cracked pair of spectacles drooped low on his reddened nose. Some exotic Dalmascan bird squawks in a cage as a bell signals her entrance, and the man sighs noisily at her intrusion. Ashe approaches the counter and sets down a palm full of pearls and jewels, their shining appearance a stark contrast to the darkened and dirtied fingers of her hand. The man says nothing, merely lifting a few of them to view through his glasses. He probably imagines her some thief, and since most of the people in Old Archades must do what they can to scrape by, he does not seem to judge her.

"Gil or trade, darling?" he asks calmly, the harsher sounds of the Archadian commoner emerging from his lips. She misses the refinement of Balthier's speech as the man peers at her over the top of his spectacles.

"Trade, if I may?" she replies in the same Bhujerban tones she employed earlier in the afternoon. "I need rations for a week, a weapon for protection…" Ashe glances behind the old man to spy a few racks of clothing, although they appear to be no more than dressed up rags. "…and a pair of boots for traveling."

Her request does not startle or concern the man, and he nods. The man scoops the pile of jewels from the wooden countertop into his palm, and he wanders back into the other room, depositing them in a metal safe. "Come 'round, now, sweet…find your boots."

Ashe does as she is told and sees about a dozen pairs of black or brown laced boots. She kneels down and examines a few pairs, checking the soles and the condition of the inner linings. Finally, she settles on a pair that looks a bit snug, but she'll have time to complain about blisters later. She carries them back around to the counter, and the man gestures for her to sit and change them for her fancier shoes.

He departs again, hopefully to retrieve some food for her, and she slips off the dressy flats and begins to lace up the dirty, worn boots. They are tight, but they've been broken in for some time and shouldn't cause too much trouble. The man returns with a few small loaves of bread, some dried meats and cheese, and she tries to mask her disgust as the man's dirtied hands shove the rations into a pack for her. Her jewels must have covered the cost of a pack as well, and she is grateful to have gotten so far at all.

"A few canteens for water?" she asks quietly, and the man nods in understanding. She is surprised by the man's lack of concern – Old Archades is full of information seekers, and she is sure that if Balthier's acquaintance Jules walked in the door right now that she would be in a great deal of trouble. Perhaps the man will let the jewels speak for themselves and will keep his silence until the highest bidder, the Archadian Emperor himself, comes offering a reward for word of the runaway Queen. She can hear sloshing as the man returns with a few canteens, and she wonders if the water is drinkable. Larsa has built safer wells, but there is still no knowing for sure that the water isn't disease-laden. She decides to dump the contents the moment she reaches the cave palace and can refill from the natural streams within.

The man adds the canteens to the pack and shoves it across the counter. He finally meets her eyes and raises an eyebrow. "And you need a weapon, beautiful?"

She ignores the term of endearment and nods. "A sword if you have it, the best quality. I would examine what you have myself." Ashe became a decent judge of swords with both Vossler's and Basch's assistance in years past, and she'll not be fooled in this exchange. The proprietor guides her to a locked chest in the corner of the shop near the bird's cage and unlocks it for her inspection. Her eyes flicker over a few useless iron swords, praying that something stronger will present itself. A tarnished but otherwise sturdy looking mythril blade catches her eye, and she points. "That one, if you don't mind?"

He hands her the weapon and rustles around in the chest for a suitable scabbard. The blade doesn't fit exactly, but it will suffice. He finds a leather belt for her to wear with it, and she is grateful for the success she has found in this shop. Shouldering the pack, she offers quiet words of thanks and moves to the exit.

"Love?"

She pauses, closing her eyes and begging that she hasn't been discovered. She has gotten so far so quickly and if she doesn't leave now, there will be no escaping the capital at all.

The man chuckles low, a deep rumbling sound that does little to ease her. "Did you need your other shoes?"

Ashe shakes her head and departs the shop quickly, nearly slamming the door behind her in her haste to depart. Although everything went smoothly in the shop, it is now nearly dark in the slums, and she must reach the caves before the streets become even more dangerous. She walks quickly, trying her best to ignore the groans of starving people out in the cold. There is nothing she can do for them. Just like there is nothing she can do for the hundreds who died in the rioting in her own capital. She shoves that dark thought away and continues through the slums.

A Bangaa harasses her, making some raunchy comment on one street while a grumpy old woman chastises her for walking the streets with a visible weapon when there are children around. She ignores them both and makes way to the cave entrance, remembering the quickest route as best she can. Her time in this place was short two years ago, and she'd spent most of it in contemplation. Her thoughts had been only of the Draklor Laboratory, and Balthier's words of warning on the Phon Coast.

He'd warned her not to give her heart to a stone, and she had listened. She hadn't been the one to destroy the cryst – Reddas had sacrificed himself to shatter it. But she had ignored the great temptation the Occuria had offered her, keeping Balthier's words at the forefront of her mind. After encountering the sky pirate's father, it had been easy to see how such power could be a corrupting force – whether from the Occuria or one of their fallen ones like Venat. Yet what had it accomplished? Here she is in the slums once more, brought as low as humanly possible.

Ashe grips the straps of the pack, and her muscles have already grown sore from the weight. It has been some time since she has borne such a burden upon her back – both physical and mental. Once she is out of the slums, she will be harder to find. At least she hopes so. The caves are hard to navigate, but Balthier had led them through with little trouble two years prior, and Ashe has a keen memory for twists and turns after so many months in Lowtown and Garamsythe with the Resistance. The Archadian squads sent after her will have a bit more trouble unless Basch himself leads them – but she imagines that the Judge Magister's hands will be full enough scouring Archades for her as well as the tricky politicking he and Larsa will undertake with her own ministers once word reaches Rabanastre about her flight. She hates the burdens she's placed upon them, but she will have time to apologize later.

The cave entrance lies at the end of one barely paved street, and she sees that no one dares to go near it. The fiends inside are infamous, and Balthier had casually mentioned how Archadian parents often told their children that the monsters within would eat them alive and spit their bones out into the streets of Nilbasse. She smiles at this morbid recollection, wishing that she had the sky pirate beside her now to relate more Archadian bedtime stories like it. Ashe pats her chest through the coat, feeling the vial where it remains nestled securely within her thin shift.

She is just about to the cave when she feels a tug on her coat. Her hand is on her scabbard immediately, but when she turns around, it is only a small boy. He wears no more than rags, his hair mussed and his face genuinely dirty – not filthy from sticking hands in a bag of soil. It seems he is too cold to speak and can only stare up at her with a wild desperation in his eyes. She shouldn't stop, shouldn't let there be another witness to her flight to actually see her enter the cave palace. For all she knows, Jules himself could have heard about her escape and might have sent this boy to find her.

But seeing his hands chapped from the cold held out, begging for something, anything, and knowing that he will probably die of starvation or exposure, Ashe cannot be heartless. In the poorer parts of Rabanastre, they take care of one another – in Archades, one fends for himself. She reaches into the pocket of her coat and removes a small handful of jewels, hoping that nobody else is around to see her. This is probably enough to buy her food and lodgings for an entire week in Balfonheim. In Old Archades, the boy will be fed for months. She places them into his hands and covers them with her own, folding his chubby little fingers around them to conceal what she has given him.

"You did not see me," she tells him in the Bhujerban voice she has been using all day. "Can you do that for me, little one?"

His eyes are still wide, and he offers no reaction. She moves her hands away and grips the straps of her pack once more. Ashe turns her back on him and descends into the cave.

-----

She should have probably asked the old man at the shop for a blanket. Instead, Ashe lies curled up in one of the not as damp corners of the chamber and holds the wool coat tightly around her. If she'd built a fire, she'd attract fiends, or worse, an Archadian soldier looking to gain a promotion for finding the renegade Queen. Sleep has been difficult to come by, but she's managed to make progress, and she's done her best to run from most of the creatures in the caves. She is dreadfully out of practice, and her sword arm already aches from the combat she's endured. Ashe has decided to flee and save her strength for the less forgiving and more hazardous open fields of Tchita and Cerobi.

Tomorrow, if she makes good time in the wet caves, she will make it to the Uplands. With winter arriving north in Archades, the Uplands will surely be near flooded with rain or in the higher parts, snowfall. The boots have served her well, and save for a rather irritating blister that threatens to pop on her heel, she hasn't had many injuries. She'd been backed up against a wall and earned a rather sickening gash on her forearm, even through the coat, but the words of some simplistic curative spells have not been forgotten in two years – it just takes a few minutes longer to recall the exact words, and she simply endures the pain.

She has no idea what is happening in the world outside of the cave. Perhaps she will emerge into the Uplands only to see an Archadian firing squad awaiting her, or less dramatic, a small airship waiting to whisk her off to Rabanastre to be officially ousted and tried for war crimes she doesn't recall committing. Ashe pulls up the hood of the coat and squeezes her eyes shut. She is used to the chatter of subjects or ministers, and she has grown a bit restless with only herself for company. The Occuria's voices have not come to her, nor has she awoken in a place different from where she turned in for the night. Perhaps this is the next stage of their punishment for her – to suffer in silence, an outcast who will be hunted like a dog across the plains of the Archadian heartland.

Ashe exhales sadly and reaches inside her coat for the vial. Having sold her clothes, this is the only thing on her person that represents her former life. She supposes it is too soon to really call it her former life, but Ashe has tried to be a bit more realistic in recent months. How could she possibly regain her throne after all of this ends? She will be fortunate if they don't behead her in her own capital or in Larsa's – after all, she assaulted a Judge Magister, posed as palace staff, and eluded capture, and all of this after spitting in the Emperor's face. By all rights, she ought to face trial in Archades as well.

She holds the vial tightly and isn't surprised to feel wetness against her cheeks. She's wanted to sob but can't afford to make the noise. Instead, she grips what used to be Paramina snow and thinks of the future – of finding some way to overthrow those Undying for good. Having only planned her way to Balfonheim, Ashe isn't entirely sure how to accomplish such an insane task. She hopes that Balthier will have some insight, or perhaps Fran. Ashe can feel in her bones that her path is leading her back to the misted Feywood and to Giruvegan beyond. She must confront Gerun and the others, but from there, her mind is a blank. She hasn't the slightest idea how to defeat them.

But that is worrisome talk for another night. For now, she must simply survive – must avoid the Archadians who will be patrolling the open fields. She remembers the scouting Tonberry ships that flew over Phon Coast when they had reached it two years before, the intense fear of being scanned by their circuitry and pounced upon out in the open. There is no doubt that there will be ships looking for her. She could hole up in the caves for another week and let them think her dead or long gone, but she does not have enough food – or enough strength – to endure such a thing.

She imagines Balthier and Fran laying on the cave floor around her as they had before. She can almost see Penelo sitting before a fire braiding her hair to keep it from her face when battling. Ashe can imagine Vaan sharing stories of his brother with Basch, and Basch recounting tales of the young man's bravery in return. She can imagine Fran's ears twitching with every noise that none of them could possibly hear, and she can see Balthier. He is clearest of all, and she supposes it is a combination of the vial and of her drowsiness that keeps bringing him to the front of her mind.

Ashe remembers a night in a chamber not so very different from this one, the day before they entered Archades for the first time – and the first time that Balthier had returned in earnest since he'd run away. She recalls how his usual smirking face had been more subdued and withdrawn, his jesting eyes darkened in the shadows from the fire light. She'd watched him stare for several minutes at the fire, and she imagined that he was contemplating seeing his father again. That night as she watched him from her bed roll, she'd considered falling for him. A man who would return to a place he vowed never to go again in order to help her – how many others could brag of friends such as that?

She shakes her head, trying to rid her mind of the memory. She is tired, her mind is playing fanciful tricks and making more of things in the past than it ought to, and it is just a blasted vial of water. Ashe values his friendship too much, and Balthier has a reputation. She'd rather relish the respect and friendship he has for her before throwing it away for girlish fancy. Now she needs him more than ever, and the last thing she needs is some foolish infatuation – he may even refuse to help her. His friendship might not go so far as to harbor a known fugitive responsible for the deaths of her own citizens.

Her eyelids are heavy, and her mind is refusing to drift away from the thought of her few remaining allies. Ashe places the vial back inside her shift and sleeps.

-----

No Archadian soldiers were waiting at the cave opening, and she wonders if Basch has been merciful. Perhaps he believes her now and thinks she is working to rid herself of the demons plaguing her. It matters little what he thinks so long as he doesn't find her. She hopes that he has recovered from the injury she dealt him and lets the knowledge that the man has suffered far worse at the hands of stronger people keep her going.

The Uplands are colder than the city had been, and she is angry with herself for not considering it. The rains she had expected have not come, but snows have. Her hands are dry and cracked as she uses one to keep her coat together and lets the other rest on the scabbard. Most of the feral animals of Tchita must be hiding to avoid the cold. There have only been a few vicious snakes in her path thus far, and most ignored her. There are dirt paths that would ease her travel across the wide plains, remnants of old roads in days long gone. She cannot take them, instead making slow but steady progress by walking in the taller, frosted grasses and in the shadows created by overhanging cliffs.

Few souls make the journey to Balfonheim on foot these days when airship transport is so cheap, but she sees a few shivering hunters along the way preoccupied with some pesky mark or other. Their presence, though several hundred paces away, is still a comfort. They will draw the more belligerent beasts away from her and at the same time, just knowing that there are other people around soothes her. Though she does not wish to be found, her loneliness increases. The cave palace was like walking through a tomb, and she at least feels alive out in the biting winds with hardened dirt beneath her feet.

Her cheeks sting and her lips ache. She will have to rest soon for the night since the skies grow dark so quickly. Even without a map, her mind remembers where she is and how far she still has to go. There is an old stone temple or structure on the hill ahead, and there she will rest for the night. The last time she'd been to the Uplands, it had been the height of summer – she cannot sleep under the stars this time. Her legs are sore as she makes her way up the steep hill, the grass wet from the snow making it more treacherous.

She is nearly out of breath when she makes it to the old building. There is a decent sized rock blocking her entrance, and she spends several minutes shoving it aside so she can slip past and inside. Luckily, the walls are still sturdy and keep the winds out, and she will not freeze if she moves the rock back. Setting down her pack, she pushes the rock back to block the entrance and by the time this is accomplished, she is ready to pass out. But she needs to eat before she can seek sleep. She makes a tiny fire with some grasses she had pulled from the plains for kindling and warms her hands. The tiny structure warms up quickly, and she can finally shed the heavy coat for the first time since departing Archades. She laughs at her appearance – at the thin cotton shift stuffed hastily in the men's filthy trousers and the clunky brown boots.

Ashe has almost completed her supper when the rock begins to move once more. She stands immediately, unsheathing her sword as a young man enters. He is dirty and shivering, but she keeps the sword trained. His hair is a dirty blond, and he reminds her so much of how Vaan looked when she first met him. "Find your own lodgings!" she shouts in warning, but his eyes are so pitiful that she sighs. "What do you want?"

His voice is Archadian, possibly by way of the small rural villages that dot the plains. "Food? I'll take whatever you don't want, mind." He holds his hands out and allows her to approach him. She keeps her sword in hand as she pats down his threadbare shirt and baggy trousers and is happy to find no weapon on him. "I'm on the run, you see. Nothing but the shirt on my back, mum."

She raises an eyebrow at that term of address, and she releases him. Ashe sits down unsteadily and knows she will be sleeping lightly tonight. The light of the fire must have been a beacon – or perhaps he'd trailed her all the way from the city? "What makes you think I will share?"

He shrugs. "You don't have to, I suppose. Maybe I could just rest here?" Ashe smirks and tosses him a chunk of bread, and he blushes. It cannot be an act, for the blush reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. "Thank you, mum."

She sees so much of Vaan in his dirty face as he munches on the bread like he hasn't eaten for several days. "What is your name?" she asks.

The boy speaks in between bites. "Well, I plan to change it when I get to Balfonheim, so I'd rather not say."

"Balfonheim?" she inquires shakily. She can't afford to have this little street rat trailing her all the way.

He nods. "I want to be a sky pirate," he mutters. "I haven't actually figured out a name yet." Was this how it was for Balthier when he ran from home all those years ago? Only clad in the clothes he left Archades in, shivering and filthy? Ashe finds it hard to even imagine Balthier with a speck of dirt on him. "I was thinking Loras the sky pirate had a good sound to it, but I don't know if it's been taken already."

"Surely there isn't a register of names in Balfonheim?" she responds in amusement, chastising herself for speaking so freely and joyfully already with this stranger who could probably be a spy or streetear. He shrugs again and continues eating. "Loras then. I'm Amalia." It is almost too easy to slip back into the alias she'd used for so many months, and she hopes that her Bhujerban accent will not slip.

Loras finishes the food and stays at one end of the room, probably as a show of good faith. His shivering has already slowed with the warmth of the fire, and some color is returning to his face. He tells her that until a week ago, he was an apprentice vendor of falsified licenses in Trant, learning how to swindle impatient Archadian gentry. Ashe used to loathe thievery in all its forms until she became friends with several members of that infamous profession herself – now she decides that she is no better than Loras.

"What is it you're running from, Amalia?" he asks then, and she pauses in confusion.

"Running?"

"Well, why else would you be on foot here?"

She thinks carefully. Is he trying to find out her true identity – or is he just genuinely curious and as desirous of companionship as she? Ashe takes one last sip of her water and puts the canteen into her pack. "Can I be perfectly honest with you Loras? Will you swear not to tell?" His eyes widen at the thought of some secret, and he nods eagerly. She leans forward a bit, looking through the small flames to his round face. "I'm petrified of airships. I am too scared of heights."

At that, Loras doubles over laughing. "But you live in Bhujerba!"

She realizes this just as soon as she's said it, and she laughs to throw the suspicion away from her. "Formerly of Bhujerba," Ashe notes as calmly as she can. "As you can see, I make the ground under my feet home now."

He smiles and shakes his head, and she hopes her lies have worked. She does not know this boy from anyone else, so she cannot know for sure. Ashe hopes that he will fall asleep soon so she can depart before he rises. She will make her way as best she can in the dark – she cannot afford to let him find her. But knowing how loud the rock scraped against the floor, she knows it will wake him. How can she avoid him?

Loras curls up in the corner, resting his head on his outstretched arm. "Do you know any sky pirates, Amalia?"

The question amuses her, and she does her best to lie down on her coat to feign slumber. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Is that where you're going? To see them?"

"No." She still doesn't trust him – he could be an agent of Archades who will report back that she is seeking out either Balthier or Vaan's assistance. "I haven't seen them in some time."

His voice is sad. "Oh, that's too bad…I don't have any place to stay when I get to Balfonheim." He is laying on the guilt pretty quickly, but she cannot tell him the city of pirates is her destination. She will not give him the impression that he can camp out on the floor of her lodgings when she arrives.

"I am sure you will find your way. There is always work in that city for those who seek it," she replies, and it is one of the only honest things she has told the young man thus far. Ashe isn't certain if Balthier went to Balfonheim first when he left Archades, and neither he nor Fran have ever been keen to explain how they met or how their pirating partnership grew to such notoriety. She has always just assumed a shorter, skinnier Balthier appeared in Balfonheim one day, pierced his ears, and let his arrogance raise him through the ranks. Ashe wonders how many boys like Balthier have fled Archades to seek their fame, or infamy, in the port town.

She watches the boy close his eyes and keeps watching until she hears his breathing become even. With all her suspicions, she hadn't even taken the time to notice the necklace the boy is wearing. The chain is simple silver, but there is a pendant at the end with some rounded charm. It is probably the only thing connecting him to his home, as the vial of water is the only thing connecting her to Fran and Balthier. Perhaps they are not so different. The rock is far too heavy to move without waking him, and she sighs. Once she reaches Cerobi, she will point Loras toward Balfonheim and will take the long way around to avoid him – he hasn't done anything terribly suspicious yet. Her own exhaustion helps to ease her into a much needed slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

It is the cold that wakes her, the biting wind that is howling through the small portal of the stone structure, and Ashe knows that she has allowed herself to slumber far too long. Rising to her feet quickly, she sees the stubborn rock has been pushed aside just enough for someone rather thin to sneak past. How had she slept through that? Her anger increases as she discovers her pack has been emptied of all the food she'd purchased and the sword and scabbard are missing as well. All the boy has left her is one canteen and her heavy coat, and the coat only because she was sleeping on it. Is there to be no end to her suffering?

She bites back a sob and leans against the cold wall, letting the blustery air from the Uplands blow through her hair and chill her to the bone. She should never have let him stay – he has stranded her rather effectively. No food, no means of defending herself. Of course, she cannot blame him entirely. Loras is desperate and a mere boy, on the run and frightened. Perhaps he will tell the pirates of Balfonheim how he behaved to earn his way into their graces, although he will probably change the tale to leave out the part that she was a woman who had given him food and shelter.

Ashe has to leave. She must get to Balfonheim no matter what. Sitting here accomplishes nothing, and she is surprised she has made it all this way without a major setback. Young Loras has taught her a valuable lesson indeed. Luckily, her pockets still contain the remainder of the jewels she tore from her gown in Archades, and thus she will still be able to obtain shelter and sustenance once she arrives in the port. But until then, she will have to stumble along and pray that no beast or other thieves set their sights upon her.

She rises to her feet and pulls the coat back over her. The canteen is still full, and it will have to sustain her until she finds some wild berries or herbs to eat. She remembers that some of the trees on the Steppe bear fruit and hopes that the winter frost has not claimed all of it. When she moves to the door, her foot crunches on something, and she steps back. Bending down, she discovers that the boy has left his necklace behind – as payment or apology, she doesn't know. She lifts the chain and pendant and wants nothing more than to throw it against the stone wall to shatter it, but it could be a day's food and water. Instead, she adds it to her coat pocket and slips out of the structure.

It is cloudy and cold, but the snows have ceased. The remainder of her day is spent making her way steadily through the lower reaches of the plain. A caravan of Moogles passes through on its way west while she is sitting in the grass eating some near rotten but still edible berries. Instead of running to hide, she continues to sit on the cold ground, keeping her head low as the wagon wheels creak and the happy sounds of the Moogle workers inside warm her. She could beg for food, but Moogles are sharper than Humes and better with faces. The wagon passes her by.

The Steppe is degrees warmer when she arrives the next morning, but the wind is harsher. Although it is not a freezing wind, it is strong and she wonders if Loras has been blown off the edge of a cliff by it. Fiends are in greater number here, and she does her best to take the long way around boulders or through small groves of trees to avoid them. Each diversion takes moments, but added together, they have probably added half a day to her journey already. Fortunately, she is able to find a place to rest in the old windmills that dot the landscape, and there are hard little apples littering the ground near some of the trees. They taste horrible, but she imagines them to be sweet chocolates or savory pastries while she munches on the mealy fruit.

Balfonheim and the sea grow closer, and though she has grown weak and tires quickly, she progresses. A fleet of Tonberry ships buzzes through the air, and she clambers up into one of the fruit trees to hide. She is stranded there for nearly an hour until she is assured that she can no longer hear the engines overhead. Ashe wonders how far the manhunt has extended through Ivalice. Hundreds, possibly thousands have been inconvenienced because they have probably shut down the aerodromes or stepped up security. How many people have been questioned? How many lives interrupted as their homes are searched for some sign of her?

Two more days pass, and her feet are sore and bleeding. The warm breeze from the Naldoan Sea is already reaching her, goading her forward although she feels like she could pass out on the ground at any moment. She ignores propriety entirely and bathes in an icy cold pond nestled in a small clustering of trees. The dirt that comes off her skin is appalling, and she is happy to rinse her shortened hair and clean the sweat and stink from herself. She cleans her filthy clothes, letting them dry on a rock while she dips her toes in the water. There she is – Queen of Dalmasca and Raithwall's heir, naked as the day she was born bathing like some nymph in a forest. She has no lavender or other scented perfume oils and must simply be satisfied that she is clean. If only that damned Loras could see her – perhaps he would steal her clothes as well.

She cannot be mad at him – he was desperate, and she was a fool. The sea air fills her nostrils with its salty scent, relaxing her tired muscles and weary limbs. The sun will set in hours, but if she hurries, she will be in the port by nightfall. The aerodrome will be off limits, although it would be the most logical place to find the Strahl and her owners. Instead, she will have to simply walk the streets. Her initial plan of hiding in wait will not serve her purpose. If she wants to find Balthier and Fran, she must get out and look. And so she has devised a plan that she is not altogether fond of. Her jewels will buy her food, lodgings in a lesser known inn off the beaten path – and it will also buy a darkening dye for her hair. One less recognizable trait – her flaxen hair will be as black as the woolen coat she wears.

Her clothes are finally dry, and she dresses again. Grasping one of the horrible little apples from a low branch, she bites into it and carries on. It has been a week since she departed Archades and though the Empire still hunts the skies, perhaps they think her dead. Perhaps Balthier and Fran think her dead as well? Her steps are more confident as she makes way through the trees and grasses, the scent of flowers and shrubs that still flourish in these wintering months mingling with the smell of the sea.

Finally, she spies the break in the rock that signals the opening to the cove that tucks away the thriving pirate city. She can see dozens of wagons departing full of goods to trade in Archades and the other small villages along the way that she carefully avoided. The scent of fish being fried and the shouts of street vendors greet her as she wanders into the outskirts of town. Men bearing burdens of crates and sacks of grain race to and fro, paying her no mind as she walks the wooden planked passageways. What defines Balfonheim is anonymity – anyone can wander these streets. Only those who draw attention to themselves are at risk; at least that is what Balthier told her when they first arrived two years ago. The place has changed – there are more and more shops and inns since the port has been blessed of late with richer catches of fish and a budding agricultural expansion into the Steppe. The stopping point for pirates of sky and sea alike has become more of a permanent settlement, and Ashe smiles to see how well Reddas' community has grown.

Her first stop is a Viera's stall at the edge of one row of sundry vendors. There are half a dozen other women gathered around, and Ashe is able to trade Loras' necklace for a jar of dye in moments since the Viera is an adept and shrewd businesswoman. The other customers are obsessing over precious stones and makeup and pay Ashe little attention. She pockets the item and makes her way to a more rundown street. She is reminded of Old Archades because of the filth, but the people here are happier and not suffering.

Ashe keeps her face neutral as she hears the gossiping wives beating out rugs, their voices calling to each other from one side of the passageway to the other where they lean halfway out their windows. "Still haven't found her. Some say she ran off to Rozarria, probably to assassinate the Emperor after her game with little Larsa failed!"

"They'll never find her, crazy thing. Thought she was a sweet one, but you saw what happened to Vayne Solidor. Probably caught the same bit of madness," another gossips back, and Ashe clenches her fist within the pocket of her coat. She is thought of as a madwoman in the streets? It shouldn't surprise her, but to be linked with Vayne Solidor makes her stomach turn.

She moves on past the chatty housewives to find an inn in between what look to be competing magick shops. There is a girl behind the counter about Penelo's age and height but with auburn hair and a duller look in her eyes. The young woman eyes her steadily, but otherwise makes no accusations. Ashe reaches in and pulls out another handful of pearls and sets them down. She keeps her head low and watches the girl begin to pick them up one by one and then hears her bite down on a couple of them to ensure that they are real.

A rusty iron key is slapped down on the counter. "You'll be in eight on the top floor," she mutters as Ashe grabs the key. The girl shoves a ledger across to her and points to the next open space. "Name and address, please." Ashe hastily scribbles down the name of her childhood nanny who passed away years before and the address of a weapon seller in Bhujerba. The inn is rather dingy, and Ashe doubts they will be checking up on her name or address.

"Top floor, was it?"

The young woman nods. "And curfew is sundown now, with the soldiers in town and all." Ashe is confused by this, and the girl is suspicious. "Must be new in town. With that Queen on the run, they're out in the streets every night looking for her. Aerodrome's a bit of trouble if you're looking to fly somewhere." She nods in thanks and moves to the rickety staircase, gripping the key until her knuckles have turned white.

She will be stuck here all night and won't be able to look for Balthier or Fran in earnest until the morning. Glancing out one of the dirty windows as she moves upstairs, she sees that darkness has already fallen on Balfonheim. Room number eight is at the end of the hall four flights up, and her legs ache. Locking the door behind her, she is grateful to slip off the heavy boots and coat. The mattress is hard and stained, and she only finds a thin blanket and a pillow set aside for her use. Still, it is an improvement from the nights she has spent in windmills or on cave floors.

Ashe removes the jar of dye she obtained from the Viera's stand and eyes it warily. She's never colored her hair, although she has seen people in the streets of every city with hair in every color of the rainbow. The sink's water is clean enough, although there is a bit of a smell from the pipes when she turns it on. She'll have to do this quickly so she can wash the dye from her hands since she lacks gloves.

The dye is almost blue it is so black in the little jar, and it feels cool against her scalp as she begins to work it in. The mirror in the room is cracked, slicing her image near in half, but she does her best to make sure the dye is applied evenly through her shorter locks. The Viera had given her brief instructions, and she must sit with the smelly stuff in her hair for half an hour. It smells so much that she opens a window to let in some fresh air. The time passes slowly, and she watches the near empty streets with a frown. Every few minutes a pair of Archadian soldiers passes by the building on their patrol, and she wonders how well the citizens of the city accept their presence in town.

She washes the stuff from her hair, watching the color turn the water the color of a starless night. Ashe scrubs her hands until they are red and raw, but the dye is gone and she examines herself in the mirror. Her light hair is gone and her skin appears pale as death since the color is so strikingly different. There are dark circles under her eyes from her restless nights, and she is startled by how different she looks now. Her horrible circumstances have only aided in making her look more like a refugee and anything but royal. Her fingers grasp the damp strands of hair, and she wonders if she must erase her entire identity.

The same girl is reading a ratty book when she comes downstairs to inquire about food. The girl says nothing about her colored hair and merely points to a side table in the foyer that has a pot of stew and bread waiting. A few other people in the inn are helping themselves, and she falls into line behind them. None are in a much better state than she is, and their clothes are even more ragged than hers. The eyes that she works to avoid are near empty, only concerned with satisfying hunger and then getting rest, and she doesn't feel so different from them.

The stew is thin, but it is the best meal she's had since the breakfast the day she fled Archades. As she sits alone in a corner next to a ticking grandfather clock, she wonders how Basch is doing. She hopes he has not faced much punishment for allowing her to escape. What she cannot shake from her mind is the disappointed look in his eyes when he told her to reconsider her actions. She spent years hating him and then took her time warming up to him once more, and when their roles were reversed he didn't slap or curse her. He pitied her and wished to help her. But what choice did she have? Her thoughts have led her to lose her appetite, and she eats the bread only because she knows she must.

The uncomfortable mattress keeps her awake when she returns to the room, and she cannot escape all of the horrible things she has done, even though she still has no recollection of them. Why have the Occuria left her now? They stole eight days of her life, but she hasn't had so much as a headache in over a week. Is it all a test of sorts? Would they rather see if she'll be driven to suicide by their destruction of her life and all that she has worked for? They are mistaken if they think they have succeeded in breaking her. Ashe has lost everything before – she knows the ache, but she knows that she must right the wrongs. When she lost all in years past, it wasn't her fault, yet she fought to free Dalmasca. This time she bears the blame – she must fight even harder. She cannot surrender.

Tomorrow she will walk the planks of Balfonheim. She must return to Giruvegan, and she must reclaim everything that has been stolen from her.

-----

Her confidence is begin to wane. Three days have passed in Balfonheim port, and she has still seen no sign of Balthier's confident swagger or Fran's long white locks. She keeps her hands in her pockets and her hood over her head as she walks the planks. An Archadian soldier looked her straight in the eye the day before and did nothing. She's become truly invisible. With her darkened hair, stained clothes, and exhausted gait, there is little of the proud and regal bearing she's always clung to. Walking about with airs will get her noticed, and she shuffles along, the heavy boots doing a fine job of slowing her pace.

She is just about to head back to the inn for her midday meal when she sees him. He is haggling a vendor of ammunition down, his arms crossed and his head cocked to the side in his usual arrogant fashion. Ashe stops several paces away and pretends to be examining some vegetables, but she watches from the corner of her eye to confirm it is him. Her only link to him for the past fortnight or so has been the vial of water, and she takes it from her coat pocket and squeezes it for courage.

He looks the same as always, his face giving away nothing and his voice full of bravado as he argues about some bags of shot. Balthier's voice has a tendency to carry, simply because it is the most conceited voice she has ever heard in her life, and probably because he prefers to be the center of attention. She closes her eyes and lets the meaningless haggling enter her ears and has not been so happy to hear him speak since his voice had carried over the radio from the falling Bahamut.

"Are you paying for those or dreaming about them, miss?" the impatient vendor interrupts then, and she is startled.

She blushes and mutters an apology, not even trying to mask her Dalmascan voice. She's found him now and will not have to lurk in the shadows for much longer. Balthier completes his transaction and hands over some gil. She cannot see any Viera ears around, so Fran must be with the Strahl or elsewhere in the city. The sky pirate departs the stall and continues walking in his usual manner. Apparently, knowing his friend is on the run affects him very little – at least outwardly. But Balthier has always masked his emotions, and she hopes that he's been somewhat concerned. Although she cannot understand why it would hurt her so much to learn if he's ignored all the mayhem she's caused across Ivalice in so short a time.

Ashe trails him, staying back far enough to hopefully appear as just another customer in the markets. His gait remains steady, and he stops briefly to peruse some bows with a keen gaze. She waits at a jewelry stand, doing her best to conceal a grin at the thought of Balthier shopping for his partner. She's learned that Fran is very particular about the weapons she chooses, and Balthier seems to recall this as well for he is off again in moments.

He moves away from the market stalls and heads uphill away from the docks. Perhaps there is a gambling house or other sordid pirate lair he is heading to. She grips the vial of water and keeps following, and she isn't sure why her heart is pounding. What if he wants nothing to do with her? He and Fran would do very well to turn her over to the authorities – not out of cruelty, but to "help" her as Basch had wished to do.

Balthier turns a corner then, and she wonders if she should just call out his name. Ashe shakes her head at her nerves. Whatever Balthier and Fran decide, she must abide by it. Once they speak, she will make for Giruvegan with or without their assistance. She is halfway around the corner when a hand nearly tugs her arm from its socket and shoves her hard against the wall, stealing the breath from her and leading her to drop the vial on the ground in her shock.

"I don't particularly like being followed so why don't you…"

Ashe is still stunned from hitting the alley wall so hard, and she can only stare up into Balthier's angry eyes as he holds her against the brick, a dagger she didn't know he carried on him pressed against the hollow of her throat. He'd known she was stalking behind him all this time, and she thinks of his gift of Paramina snow now mingling with the filthy, grimy wood planks at her feet. The blade is gone as quickly as it was brought against her skin, and his eyes immediately soften.

"Ashe?"

She nods, glancing quickly to see that no one else has followed them into this darkened passage. He removes his hands from her, and she takes down the hood to show him her face in what light shines down into this twisting alleyway. All the words she's practiced, all the greetings she's gone over in all this time, and she can barely breathe. She can smell the gunpowder and shot he's purchased and cannot meet his eyes now that she is near him. She feels ashamed suddenly, and she doesn't know why.

Ashe remembers his dirty boots on her duvet, the impish look in his eyes when he handed over the vial that now lays broken at her feet. Her long days on the road have exhausted her mentally and physically and now that she has someone close, someone she knows to be a friend, she feels like she can finally give in to the emotions she's had to suppress. Her face is already wet, and she cannot bear to look at him. Instead, she crouches down and tries to pick up the shards of glass on the dirty wooden boards.

"Ashe," he says again, less surprise and more fear in his voice now. He's used her given name twice in only a few moments, and she can hardly recall him addressing her as anything but Princess. His hand is firm on the top of her head, and his fingers tangle slightly in her shorter hair. "Stand up."

She obeys him, not that she would normally do so at anyone's command, but simply because she needs him. He hasn't hauled her up and started dragging her away yet and that helps her to keep breathing, even though it comes in large gulps now as she stands with the broken pieces of glass in her hand. He sighs and tugs her palm towards him. He pulls the glass away from her and tosses it to the ground. When he is satisfied that she has stopped being foolish, he clears his throat. "Look at me."

She does so. His face is still cautious, but his eyes are not unkind. Balthier releases her palm, and she lets it fall to her side. "I am sorry for following you like that," she says quietly, not knowing exactly how to ask him to help her. "I didn't want to draw attention to myself."

Balthier's mouth sets in a thin frown, and he brings his hand to her head again, examining the black strands cautiously. "You've changed your hair."

"And my wardrobe," she replies, shrugging her shoulders in the heavy coat. He is standing so close that she can smell him and hopes that she does not stink to the heavens.

"Understandably," he remarks then. Which one of them will broach the topic first? She can barely stay standing, wondering how he will judge her – one of the only friends she has left. The brick behind her keeps her upright and she wishes she could stop trembling. She has broken out of Archades and traversed the wintry plains, yet words are near impossible. She loathes her weakness, hating the tears that still trickle from her eyes.

"Balthier, I…"

He stills her then, pressing a finger to her lips to silence her. The pad of his finger is warm but insistent, and she feels her heartbeat racing. There is the sound of footfalls in the passage beside them, the familiar metallic sound of Archadian soldiers. "Put your hood up," he hisses, moving to do so before she even gets a chance. Balthier grabs her elbow and pulls her down the alley so that their backs are to the soldiers when they pass. He has his arm around her shoulder casually like they are out for a stroll – a strange pair, truly, since he is dressed in his usual finery, and she is clad in men's gardening attire.

When he is satisfied that they have eluded the attention of the Archadians, he releases her once more and crosses his arms. "Let's make this quick, Princess," he says, the tender voice he had when he first discovered her now businesslike, almost reminding her of the way he'd spoken to her the day he took Rasler's ring. "You're in a bit of trouble."

She rubs the tears from her eyes and nods, resisting the urge to scowl at his understatement. Seeing how quickly he reacted to the soldiers has given her a sliver of hope that he will try to assist her, but she doesn't want to be hasty. "I have something to ask…"

"And I have an idea what that is," he responds tersely, effectively cutting her off. After his initial gentleness, she isn't terribly surprised that he would revert to this way of speaking around her. Balthier is a tough bargainer, and she'd had to nearly beg him to "steal" her before. Perhaps he is expecting such a request again and is already thinking of ways to decline.

This time she has no treasure to offer him, no prize of the Dynast-King. She is a fugitive and a criminal, and after what has happened in Rabanastre, she is probably the greatest threat to Ivalice since Vayne Solidor. The gossiping housewives were not entirely wrong, were they? Even Balthier, who robs the living and dead alike, is wary of her.

He seems to be pondering his next course of action, his fingers tapping against the sleeve of his shirt. She watches his carefully constructed leading man front crack slightly, his frown growing wider and his forehead crinkling in thought. "Fran and I have lodgings near the Whitecap. What about you?"

This is not the question she expected, but at least it is one she has a ready response to. "Some rundown inn…I am not tied to it." She is reminded of the pirate-to-be Loras and the way he had insinuated a need of lodgings. Ashe is no less desperate now.

Balthier pinches the bridge of his nose, seeming to realize the great risk he is taking in even speaking to her. "Keep your hood up and follow me as you did before." He grasps her hand and places a thin key in it. "The building I enter…wait ten minutes and you'll find me on the third floor, end of the hall. Room twenty-seven."

He is already away from her before she can even thank him.


	6. Chapter 6

Ashe puts the hood of the coat up again and emerges from the alleyway, the air from the sea drying the remaining tears on her face as she trails behind Balthier once more. He seems far tenser now, probably because he has now connected himself to her with this key to his room.

The inn looks much friendlier than the one she's been in for the past few days, and she sees Balthier glance back to her almost imperceptibly before he goes inside. Ashe busies herself with a few market stalls since he has asked her to wait. Perhaps he is warning Fran that she is coming. She was too out of place before, staring at things and not buying, so she purchases a loaf of bread and some exotic Rozarrian cheese. There's no way of knowing if the sky pirates intend to share their supper with her. She enters the inn then and takes her hood down when she only sees a snoozing old woman at the counter.

She makes way to the third floor and knocks on the door at the end of the hall. The door opens moments later, and Balthier smirks. "I gave you a key." Ashe is immediately flustered. How could she have forgotten so quickly? Balthier laughs and stands aside. "Get in here." He takes the food from her hands and brings it over to the table in the corner of the room. There is no sign of Balthier's things in the room, and she rolls her eyes. He gave her the spare key to Fran's room and must have picked the lock himself.

The Viera is not around, and he moves to close the door. "Where is Fran? I would speak with the both of you," she mumbles. He gestures for her to sit, and he helps himself immediately to the food she's just purchased for herself. The man has changed very little since she met him. She joins him at the table and shrugs off the heavy coat, draping it on the chair. Balthier raises an eyebrow at her thin shift tucked into the trousers. "I could not travel the countryside in a royal gown."

"I know," he remarks, munching on a bit of cheese. "They found your clothes in that bin behind the theater." She looks down and frowns. They had been looking for someone in different clothes all along when she'd been so confident they'd be looking for a Queen. Balthier waves his hand to calm her. "Fran's at the aerodrome, she'll be back shortly I should think. I'm sure she'll be…"

"Happy to see me?" Ashe supplies when Balthier cannot find the words.

He smirks once more. "Fran is never happy, you know that," he jokes, but she knows he only does so because he isn't sure what else to say. She doesn't know how they can even be sitting here so…domestically after all that she has done, but she ignores it and lunges for the bread and eats her fill since she paid for it after all. "Did you steal that food?"

She scowls at him, reaching into the coat pockets and depositing the remainder of pearls and jewels on the table in front of him. "I paid for it." They eat in silence for a while, and she will wait for Fran to arrive before beginning to discuss her ordeal. That Balthier can sit and eat with her has given her some happiness, but he will not go where Fran won't follow, and she knows this. The sky pirates have been partners far longer than she has known them, and their loyalty to her will never outweigh their loyalty to one another.

Ashe has never been one for small talk, and as chatty as Balthier can be, he isn't one for idle conversation either. Instead, they eat and stare at the floor or the wall, although she catches him glancing at her strange clothes and dark hair every few moments as if to assure himself that it is truly her. Together they finish the bread and cheese, and he moves to pick up one of the pearls. "So you stole _these_ then?"

"No, Balthier. Those came from the dress."

He sets the bauble down and seems impressed. "Quite the little operation, Princess. Master of escape. There's a bit of pirate in you begging to be set free."

She shakes her head. He has been very mercurial since their encounter in the alley way. He was first gentle, then cold and now he is settling into the same jovial behavior he exhibited during his secret visits to her. She hasn't the slightest idea what he is thinking nor does she know how much he knows about her situation and was has happened in Dalmasca. "The clothes belong to the palace gardener in Archades."

He chortles with laughter then, his face reddening in his joy. "Is that a fact? They were wondering how you got away." She is surprised he can make light of it, but he has always had a rather dark sense of humor. Perhaps he finds the whole thing a grand joke. There are footsteps in the hall then, and Balthier gives her a reassuring smile. "Door's open, Fran."

The Viera enters and closes the door. If she is surprised to see her there, Fran doesn't show it. She merely nods and sets down a tool kit. Fran addresses her partner first. "The coupling is repaired. We have clearance to depart tomorrow morning."

Balthier acknowledges this with a sigh of relief and then almost as if they have a psychic bond, he and his partner turn to face her at the exact same moment, their eyes inquisitive. Ashe swallows down a few gulps of air and meets Fran's gaze first. "It has been a long time, Fran."

"Majesty," she says with a deferential bow of her head. If Balthier is hard to read, then Fran is a solid stone wall. Ashe supposes that he has picked that up from his partner as the years have gone by. The Viera joins them at the table, her ruby eyes flitting quickly over the small pile of jewels.

"I suppose you know of my…of what has happened in Dalmasca," she says quietly. The partners offer no acknowledgement or denial, and it seems they will hear her side before passing judgment. She relates her headaches, including the one Balthier himself witnessed in person. Then she explains that strange council meeting and her speech before the people – and the terrible headache and visitation from the Occuria.

"Was it a dream?" Fran inquires, finally interrupting her recollections.

Ashe bites her lip. "It felt as a dream does, but somewhat more real. It felt like I was truly in Giruvegan again." She remembers being blinded, but Gerun spoke to her as she is speaking to Balthier and Fran right then.

The Viera nods. "I am sorry. Please continue."

Eight days of her life gone, she tells them what she learned from Basch in Archades and recounts her escape and subsequent life on the run for the past several days. They take it all in, and when she is done explaining, Balthier and Fran exchange a glance that she cannot decipher. So much of their communication has always been silent, and never has Ashe hated it more than she does now. Their faces are impenetrable, only a subtle quirk of lip or eyebrow indicating that some form of discussion is taking place before her.

Balthier leans back in the chair a few moments later and laces his fingers together behind his head. Fran picks up a few jewels and frowns at them. She speaks softly. "So you believe the Occuria exhibited some sort of control over you?"

Ashe nods. "I would never harm my people or start meaningless conflict. When Gerun spoke to me, she said I was their slave."

The Viera does not react, merely letting the words hang in the air for a few moments while Balthier puts his feet up on the table as if they are chatting amiably about politics or the weather. Fran has never been demonstrative, but she places one of her hands over hers and meets her eyes. "And they have not visited you again? You have not lost any more time?"

"No."

"You are absolutely certain?"

Fran is right to ask these questions. Her story is strange indeed. Erratic behavior, yes, but none since she woke in Archades. "I have no idea what the Occuria mean for me. Maybe I am out of their reach…"

"I doubt it," Balthier replies with a snort.

His eyes are not cruel, and she tries to remain positive. "Perhaps they think they have brought me low enough – gave me enough rope to hang myself with. Dalmasca is my greatest joy and to betray that…" Balthier is examining the cuffs of his shirt, and she doesn't know what to think of his behavior. He's never been altogether serious, but she wonders if he thinks her mad like Basch had. She pushes on. "To betray that would be enough for anyone to give in, but I cannot. I will see my name cleared and this crisis averted."

Fran's voice is steady as always. "And for that to become a reality…"

She looks away from the bored-looking Balthier to hopefully garner a bit more sympathy from his partner. "I would seek your assistance. I have no one else."

"How are we to know you're not being swayed by the Occuria right now?" Balthier asks then, and she feels her face grow hot. Perhaps their machinations are more subtle now? Loras stealing all of her food, nearly succumbing to her exhaustion…are the Undying ones still manipulating her fate by throwing more challenges in her path?

Ashe closes her eyes and tries to maintain her calm. "I have no way to prove that to you other than to give you my word. I've had no headaches in over a week – if I had one, then you would probably have reason to fear me."

Fran finds this agreeable. "If you were to have an episode, we would have to subdue you. Is that a problem?"

She shakes her head. "It is an expectation. I would trust no one else to take care of me when…" Frowning, she clears her throat. "In the event that it happens again." Balthier's eyes widen slightly when she mentions trusting no one else, and she can only think of Basch and how she has probably severed their friendship. "I have said my peace…might I ask some questions of you?"

The Viera nods. "Of course. You have been on your own for many days."

"Is there any news of Dalmasca?"

Balthier finally removes his feet from the table and stands, moving to glance out the window. "Still under sanctions from Rozarria. Word has it that your uncle is secreting grain into the country, but Hammad won't like it when he finds out. Larsa's working with Al-Cid to keep the good fellow from bringing a fleet of airships to bomb your capital into oblivion."

He is never one to speak falsely, and she is glad to hear that Dalmasca is being cared for in her absence – but the threat of Rozarria stirring is unsettling. News of Larsa has given her an excuse to discuss Archades. "And Basch…I…well, you probably know…"

"That you knocked him out with his own blasted helmet?" Balthier replies with a laugh. "Oh, that's gotten around." He seems to sense her discomfort, and he looks back out the window.

Fran squeezes her hand once more. "He is quite alright. He is made of sterner stuff than we know."

She is glad to know this, but surely the blow to his pride and status in Archades has caused more pain than a blow to his skull. "I am glad to hear it." Ashe doesn't need another burden on her mind, and knowing that her dear friend is recovered is a comfort. Some time has passed since she began to explain her experiences, and already the afternoon sun over Balfonheim is beginning to wane. "Forgive me, but…"

"You still need an answer."

She can see Balthier's reflection in the glass, and he is watching her and not the pirate town below. She cannot afford to shrink under his gaze – she must look like someone worth helping, even at probable risk to his life. Where she originally thought that Fran would be the one to convince, it appears that Balthier is weighing his options far more carefully. She cannot blame him – to go against the Occuria seems suicidal, but a fallen Occuria played a role in his father's death. Maybe Balthier wishes for some sort of closure?

And that is when it hits her. How hard it had been for him to even believe in Venat's existence, how long his father had been under her influence and had changed. Balthier had fled his home not knowing what had happened to the man, and then he'd confronted him only because of the way their paths crossed – he'd told her as much at Phon Coast. Does he wish to meddle in such a messy situation once more? He'd been nothing but supportive then, even helping to kill Cid himself. Could Balthier really bring himself to help her again when she is probably as crazed as his father had been?

Fran rises from the table then. "I will run a final check on our supplies and assure that the Strahl is ready for tomorrow's departure." She leaves the room then, and Ashe realizes that Fran's words can mean any number of things. Tomorrow's departure needn't include her. The Viera has left the final decision to her partner, and still he looks at her in the glass.

"Balthier, I understand your reluctance…"

"Do you?" he asks simply, no trace of malice in his words.

She stands and walks over to him. "That you have even listened to what I had to say has helped me so much already." It has been good to share her experiences, no matter how dire they have been. To speak of them has cleared her mind and helped her to cope greatly. "Thank you."

He turns away from the window and crosses his arms. "Giruvegan?"

His father went mad there, at least that is how she understands it. Balthier has only given her brief glimpses of his life before Cid's change. A trip to the Jagd Difohr resulted in his madness and was probably when Venat broke away and set him on his destructive path. Balthier had been almost disgusted with himself when Cid conned them all into visiting the ancient city – where the Occuria had first spoken with her and chosen her as their sword bearer. And now she would go back? Would he willingly take her there?

"I must confront them. They will be no masters of mine," she replies plainly, believing her words with every fiber of her being. That they have not visited her in so long leads her to wonder if she has grown strong enough to resist their interventions in her mind.

Balthier nods quickly. "History back in the hands of men," he murmurs, echoing the words of his father, and it chills her to hear them come from him. "And for good this time."

She grasps his forearm and stares up into his face, determined to crack his façade and find out his answer. Why won't he simply say yes or no? She could gather up her jewels and go back to that terrible inn before sundown. "Balthier, will you help me?"

His eyes look down to stare at her chapped, dry hand tugging on his sleeve like a small child. Pulling his arm away from her gently, he moves from the window and walks to the door. "You'll stay here with Fran tonight."

"Balthier, wait…"

He stops, halfway out the door. Looking back, she sees a profound sadness in his eyes that she has only seen once – when his father faded away right before them all. "Yes, Ashe. We will help you."

The door closes, and she feels hot tears in her eyes and will not brush them away as she usually does. Happiness and relief flood her entire body, and she sits on the Viera's bed because she can barely stand after her anxious wait for Balthier's answer. Finally after so many days, she is a step closer to gaining her life back. Fran returns a short time later with an armful of clothes.

She moves to the table and offers a handful of her remaining pearls, but Fran will have none of it. "You owe me nothing for this," the Viera says kindly as she hands over a clean blouse and long woolen skirt, more of an Archadian style than anything. It will help her appear common, but not out of place as the gardener's clothes do. Ashe accepts the new clothes gratefully. "I did not know the size of your feet, I am sorry," Fran continues, handing over a more sensible pair of ladies' boots that appear to be perfectly sized.

Ashe grins and takes them. "Is there any way I could take a proper bath?"

The other woman nods and moves past her into the small washroom and turns on the faucet. "I will leave you to it. I have some navigation charts to go over with Balthier," Fran notes as she heads back to leave the room. "I will lock the door behind me."

"Thank you, Fran. For everything," she replies, trying to convey her gratitude as strongly as she feels it within her. Fran says nothing, merely closing the door and turning her key in the lock.

The bath water is warm, and Fran has even set aside some salts and oils for her use. It smells divine and eases her tired muscles. Her feet have been sore from walking around Balfonheim these past few days, and the water is relaxing. If the Strahl has clearance for tomorrow, then they could make it to Giruvegan in a few days. The ship can be moored in the Paramina Rift and from there they need only traverse the twisting Feywood. Ashe has not missed the misted forest nor the ancient city beyond, but she feels like she must go there and confront Gerun.

When the water grows cold, she steps out and dresses in her new attire. She will not miss the filthy shift and trousers, still stained despite the laundering she'd done days earlier. The boots from the Archadian store will also be abandoned here, and she stuffs them under the other bed in the room for some maid to find when they are long gone. Examining herself in the mirror, her bath has left her looking far healthier. The stark contrast between her hair color and her skin tone is lessened now that there is some color in her cheeks and a bit more shine to her hair. She almost feels human again.

There is a knock at the door, and Fran announces herself. Ashe lets her in, and by now, it is time for supper. The Viera has brought soup from downstairs and some freshly baked bread. The smell of it is so good that she can't help but sigh happily, and Fran chuckles at her outburst. "I am sorry to leave you, but Balthier and I must maintain appearances. We will have dinner at the Whitecap and will be sure that anyone with an ear to hear us will know we depart tomorrow for a treasure hunt in the Deadlands. Few would be foolish enough to follow us."

Ashe sits down at the table again and begins to eagerly devour her meal. When that is done, she is asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

-----

A firm hand rouses her, and she sees Fran's usual solemn face when she opens her eyes. "I'd begun to thought it was all a pleasant dream," she mumbles as she wakes. "I thought perhaps I was still imprisoned in Archades and the past several days nothing more than the fantasies of a troubled mind."

Fran says nothing as she rises from the bed, and Ashe supposes that making light of her situation isn't exactly a comfort to those who harbor her at risk to themselves. She goes about her morning routine quietly, and when she is dressed and ready, Fran is packing for travel.

"We imperil ourselves if we try to sneak you into the aerodrome," Fran explains, handing her the smaller of the two packs she has prepared. "Balthier has already departed with the Strahl for Archades. He will stock up with supplies and meet us in the Steppe tonight."

She nods. Rarely is she given orders, but she will gladly follow Fran's lead on this. To board any airship, she would probably need some form of identification. Though a city of thieves, false identity papers cost far more than her remaining jewels can buy. The thought of them brings her eyes to the table where the colored baubles and pearls have vanished.

"Fran?" she asks, looking desperately underneath the wooden table and by the rugs.

The Viera sounds rather uncomfortable when she speaks again. "Payment. Balthier is using the remainder of your jewels to purchase your food and fuel for the journey."

Ashe knew his help would not come without a price, but the tiny pieces from her dress were all she had left. The vial he gave her shattered, her clothes and possessions are abandoned, and she now appears a stranger with raven hair and Archadian clothing. Very little of Queen Ashelia remains outwardly, and inwardly she feels her remaining pride slipping away as well. Is there to be nothing of the Queen left, only some foolish girl begging the help of pirates who would take bits of pearl ripped from cloth?

She doesn't know why she allows the tears to fall in front of Fran, for she knows the Viera cannot fully empathize with her. Ashe wishes she could keep her feelings in check as Fran and her partner can. But he took them without even telling her, and she does not like it. There is nothing now that she can do of her own volition. The Occuria have stolen her control away before, and now Balthier would do the same?

The Viera surprises her then by wrapping an arm around her shoulders gently. "He does so because he is a pirate," she explains quietly, her soft hand rubbing her arm rhythmically to soothe her. "You may have noticed that Balthier has…difficulties with friendship."

Ashe chuckles at that, rubbing her eyes and turning red in embarrassment. A good businessman would seek payment for assistance – a friend would not expect to be compensated. She wonders if Balthier even knows the difference. "He is not always sensitive, Fran," she complains, moving to shoulder the pack. They have to get moving if they are to rendezvous on time with Balthier.

The Viera lifts the other pack and appears deep in thought. "He is more sensitive to your plight than you know, Majesty," Fran notes. "But he cannot show it." Ashe nods in understanding, much as she does not agree with it. Perhaps when she regains her throne, she will pay him properly from her treasury – she is sure he expects as much, she thinks with a sigh.

They depart the inn and journey to the outskirts of the port in relative quiet. It is strange to walk the streets in Fran's company. The Viera is swift in her movements, and her exotic beauty draws a great deal of attention. Luckily, it seems to keep eyes away from her, and perhaps this is why Fran was the one to accompany her. Not that Balthier cannot turn heads, but a Viera is still a strange sight to those unfamiliar with them.

She and Fran are almost to the Steppe when she sees him. The chocobo stables at the edge of town have a new worker, and there is no time to hide her face. Loras stands there dumbly, his hand perched atop his spade where he rests from his cleaning work, and he gawks at her. Fran seems to notice something amiss and tugs her by the elbow.

"Do you know that boy?"

Ashe turns away as quickly as she can, letting the grasses of the Steppe just paces away be the only thing she sees. Panic sets in as Fran nearly has to drag her out of the port, and she knows that even with her changed hair and clothes that Loras knew her. And now that he is in Balfonheim and seeking his fortune, perhaps he will…

"Pay it no mind," Fran chides her as they depart, and Ashe prays that nothing will come of it.


	7. Chapter 7

Seeing Loras again still clouds her mind as she and Fran wander the grassy rolling hills of the Cerobi Steppe. The boy had known her even without the coat and trousers he'd seen her wearing, known her with hair the color of night. What reward have the Archadians in town offered for any news of her whereabouts? Can he even connect the "Amalia" he met with the runaway Queen of Dalmasca? Peeking behind her several times, he has not followed her and neither has she seen any soldiers trailing them.

It has not been so very long since she was last here, but the comfort of another's company makes the journey far easier. Ashe is overjoyed to have help, but will it be enough? She hasn't thought very far ahead and now the looming worry threatens to consume her. How does one stand against immortals? Perhaps it is the stones that tie them to Ivalice? She remembers the tall stones on the platform in Giruvegan. Could they be destroyed? Without the physical tie to her world, it might sever their influence. But there is no way to know for sure, and this is what gnaws at her. She has recruited two friends to her cause, and she has no immediate solution.

She and Fran rest for a short meal in a cluster of trees, and Ashe finds herself picking up one of the hard little apples from the ground. Examining the red skin and smelling its sweet but not really pleasant fragrance, she chuckles quietly. She subsisted for days on the things and now she has plenty of food. Fortunes change quickly in Ivalice – from good to bad and back again in rapid succession. How long will this bit of luck remain to her?

The Viera has been quiet, as she usually is. On their journey before, Vaan and Penelo would often make bets for a pittance – who would speak less that day? Fran or Basch? Vaan's selection of the Captain usually cost him in the end, and Penelo ended up with new weapons or treats far more often than Vaan did. Ashe smiles at the memory, and Fran gives her a strange look.

"Just thinking about the last time we traveled together," she mumbles, and Fran goes back to her shrewd examination of the arrows in her quiver. The Viera's knowledge of archery is great, but she has claimed that what she knows is nothing compared to the wood warders of her former home. But Ashe saw Fran's arrow navigate past her own head once with precision enough to strike the eye of a creature yards away – she figures that Fran's skill is nothing to disregard.

"Balthier will anchor in the valley past the lake," Fran explains, gesturing through the trees to the waters just beyond. The journey will take a few hours more, but thus far, the Steppe has been hospitable and few fiends have troubled them. "We should reach Paramina by the morning."

Ashe has not entirely missed Balthier and Fran's airship. Though it conveyed them throughout Ivalice and was instrumental in their victory over Vayne, she remembers more clearly its time moored in the Rabanastre aerodrome without its owners. Vaan and Penelo had only used it sparingly, probably to avoid a wrathful Balthier, and Ashe had actually slipped out of the palace a few times to see it.

It had been a strange sight indeed – the ship sat silently in the hangar, no sign of her crew. Ashe had used the privilege of her position to get aboard and had spent a few nights immediately after Bahamut had fallen in the cockpit – not that she would ever tell Balthier such a thing. He'd laugh at her until he cried. The colorful dials and switches that had confounded her in Bhujerba were quiet and without illumination. She slept those nights in the pilot's seat, the leather cold and not exactly comfortable, but for all she knew, her friends had died in the crash. Balthier had assured them he would return, but as the months passed and the ship languished in the hangar without him, Ashe had begun to loathe the sight of it.

It will be strange to be aboard again. Where will she stay? There are cabins for her owners, but she cannot expect to ask to sleep there. Gentleman though he may be at times, Balthier should not have to give up his bed for her. She sighs, knowing that her remaining jewels could not possibly cover room in addition to the board she has already purchased. There is the bunk just behind the cockpit, but Basch's brother died there. Perhaps she will curl up in one of the uncomfortable chairs once more.

Fran is ready to depart again, and Ashe stands, brushing dirt and grass from her skirt. The material is warm, and she is surprised that Fran was able to pick it out considering how little clothes she normally wears. She smiles and shoulders her pack once more. Fran has been living among Humes longer than she or Balthier have been alive combined – she should not really be surprised by her Viera friend.

The sun is warm as they emerge from the trees and back onto the open fields. The lake ahead has water of the darkest blue she's ever seen, and it reminds her of the color of the dye she's put in her hair. Much has happened since she was last in the Steppe. Fran's pace is quick, and she is almost embarrassed by how easily she is distracted by the sights around her. Then again, Ashe has spent the majority of the past two years in Dalmasca. Despite her circumstances, seeing the world again is invigorating – she hadn't realized until now how much she's missed it.

Fran seems to sense this. "We stop if you require it, Majesty." Her eyes are not unkind as she looks back, and Ashe nods.

"I have not seen much more than sand in a few years, Fran, I am sorry," she says, quickening her pace to catch up with the Viera.

"It is something Balthier and I take for granted in our travels," Fran admits. "We have the freedom to see plains, deserts, mountains…it is I who must apologize for hurrying you along."

Ashe shakes her head. "No, we have more important things to consider. Balthier will be impatient if we are late." She knows this to be true. If there is anything the sky pirate lacks, it is patience. It is probably why he jumps from place to place and cannot settle. He is too restless, too unwilling to stand still when there is so much of the world he has not yet explored. She admires his spirit, but she recalls the many mornings when he was halfway to their next destination before she had finished packing her supplies.

They continue walking in a comfortable silence, and Ashe tries to ignore the smell of the fresh sea air that still reaches her from the south. The desert air is clean and rarely smells of anything at all, except when the spices from the bazaar find their way north to waft past her palace walls. It is almost sensory overload to walk through grasses with wildflowers and groves of blossoming trees. Even in winter, the Steppe is full of fragrance.

The time passes quickly and the sun's position overhead changes. Before she realizes it, her hair is rustling in the wind, and Fran has to physically hold her back from moving. Showing off as usual, Ashe thinks with a smile as the Strahl circles the lake a few times before its engines slow and the ship descends into the valley. Balthier lands his ship several hundred paces away on level ground and the Strahl has barely set down before he appears at the top of the steps waving.

"He waves as if we have not seen his theatrics," Fran informs her with the slightest quirk of her lips. The Viera can be downright sarcastic when talking about her partner, and Ashe wonders if Balthier knows she does so. "Whatever you do, offer no praise. He puts the ship at risk with his fancy piloting."

Ashe withholds a smile. "For a secret mission, he certainly is being flashy."

Fran sighs. "He does so to impress you. Just in case you've forgotten who the best pilot in Ivalice is." They approach the ship, and Ashe feels her face growing warm. Balthier has always been openly flirtatious with her, but to have some confirmation of it from Fran is rather embarrassing.

"I trust your journey wasn't too taxing, ladies," the sky pirate remarks cheerfully from atop the stairs.

Fran shakes her head and climbs the stairs and brushes past Balthier. He grins widely since Fran must have had some look of irritation on her face that only he was allowed to witness. Ashe has been right all along – Balthier thrives on dangerous situations. He has just set his ship down in a field to escort a runaway Queen, and he is as giddy as a schoolboy. Even a morning in his least favorite place, Archades, has not marred his cheerful disposition.

Extending a hand to her, he cocks his head to the side and continues grinning. "The Strahl awaits, my lady."

Rolling her eyes, she shoves his hand out of her way and moves into the airship. "This is not a game, Balthier. I expect you've spent all of my remaining wealth appropriately?" He says nothing in response, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from yelling at him. Why she is still upset about it is a mystery even to her – it was a handful of jewels torn from a dress. It wasn't as if he'd stolen directly from her treasury. She has obviously misunderstood their friendship, nothing more. He is a pirate after his own profit as he has always been. It is not worth dwelling upon.

Balthier follows her into the cockpit where Fran is already preparing the ship to depart again. Seeing the blinking lights fully functional once more is enough to stop her in her tracks, and she finds herself gripping the back of the pilot's chair tightly. He squeezes past her and sits down in his chair, and she recalls the nights she spent sleeping there. It is strange to see the Strahl occupied again though it has been for nearly a year now.

"You can put your pack in Fran's cabin, Princess," Balthier suggests casually. Fran turns her head to give her a look that is sympathetic, but at the same time encouraging her to listen to what Balthier tells her.

Ashe ignores her rude and discourteous host and departs the cockpit, dragging the pack after her. The whole ship hums as she feels it lift into the air, and she moves to the rear where Balthier and Fran's cabins are. The rooms are always warm since the Strahl's strange design has placed them directly over the engine room. Ashe is used to a warm bedchamber living in Dalmasca – she doesn't understand how Balthier and Fran willingly sleep aboard. She supposes it is why they sleep at inns when making prolonged stops in between treasure hunts.

Even though she's not been in Fran's quarters for nearly two years, the exotic scent like vanilla mixed with some spice from a place Ashe has never been perfumes the air. She remembers that Balthier's cabin smells of a combination of shot from his collection of firearms and whatever cologne he seems to nearly bathe in. Fran's cabin is much less assaulting of her senses. She sets down the pack before her mind is too distracted from being aboard the Strahl again, and she walks back to the cockpit.

They are already gliding through the clouds, and she can see the Steppe far below them, the windmills looking tiny and the green rolling hills looking nearly flat from above. She stands behind Balthier, leaning her arm on top of the chair. "Fran says we'll reach Paramina by morning."

He nods in acknowledgment while Fran adjusts a few dials at her seat. "It would normally be faster, but we're avoiding the usual airship routes." Beneath her feet, the panels rumble just slightly, a steady hum indicating the Strahl's travel through the skies. She's forgotten how powerful this airship feels. Most of her diplomatic visits have had her on large ships – the Strahl is smaller and quicker.

Balthier seems to sense her disquiet, and he leans back in the seat to look up at her. "Are you going to hover over me until we get there?"

Sighing, she sits down in a huff behind him. Sure, she is impatient to get closer to Giruvegan, but does Balthier have to be short with her the entire time? He's been paid for his assistance since he is so unwilling to help a friend in need for anything less than their most cherished possessions, be they jewels or wedding bands.

She rubs her forehead and tries to calm down. Why is she so angry with Balthier? Everything he has said is not so terribly different from the usual way he jests with her. Perhaps it was the long days of her journey alone from Archades. Her thoughts turned to the sky pirate often enough – perhaps she let her mind remember the good and neglected to recall the more negative aspects of the man's character. In two days, he's already pulled a knife on her, eaten her food and ordered her around.

What she needs is rest. She's been walking since the early morning, and she is out of sorts. Balthier and Fran are both risking themselves to help her, and she should be more grateful. The sky pirates seem to realize that she is irritable out of exhaustion more than anything, and their voices are quiet as they make conversation. She lets the soft sounds of her friends and the hum of the airship lull her into a much needed nap.

-----

The crackling noise over the radio wakes her, and the voice that comes from it then startles her.

"Attention pirate vessel Strahl."

"Pirate vessel?" Balthier spits out angrily, and Ashe grips the armrests of the seat she's in. Fran and her partner continue their course, but she can sense a growing tension. Fran's ears are at attention and twitching slightly, and although she can't tell how Balthier is reacting in front of her, his voice tells her all she needs to know.

"This is Judge Magister Gabranth aboard the Alexander," Basch's voice announces, and Ashe feels lightheaded. How could they have found her so quickly? "You will halt course and prepare to be boarded."

"You have to be kidding," Balthier mutters as Ashe sees the enormous Archadian flagship rise up just ahead of them to dwarf the Strahl. She hopes that the Alexander's crew cannot see through the glass to view her sitting behind the Strahl's pilot.

The Alexander, with its dark hull and dozens of decks, hovers in the air menacingly, and Ashe can feel the Strahl's hum quiet until the ship is flying in the same pattern as the Archadian ship. Loras told the Archadians, how else could they have tracked them down so quickly? Basch has found her, and he'll be hauling her back to Archades or Rabanastre or whoever would have her blood first.

Basch's voice is angrier this time, an impatience to it that she has never heard before. "Halt course or you will be fired upon." Ashe watches a red glow at the center of the Alexander's bow grow increasingly brighter, and she begins to feel nauseous.

Fran begins flipping several switches. "He does not appear to joke."

Balthier rises from his seat then, pulling the radio receiver from the wall and tossing it to his partner. His face is calm as he does so. "The usual pleasantries if you don't mind, Fran." He moves to look at her, and there is something in his eyes that Ashe cannot understand. Is it fear? Anger? He keeps his emotions so close that she fears she will never decipher them. Balthier grabs her arm and hauls her out of the seat. Dragging her from the cockpit before she can protest, he calls back to Fran over his shoulder. "And do try to at least sound like me this time."

Ashe can barely move, her feet shuffling along the metal floor as Balthier pulls her through the corridor to the rear of the ship. The radio crackles as Fran begins chatting amiably back and forth with the Archadians in Balthier's voice, and Ashe wonders how many scrapes the pirates have gotten out of because of the little trick device.

His grip on her wrist is tight as he drags her along. "The last time this happened she made me sound like some simpering idiot. 'Yes, please. Of course. I am at your command.'" Balthier informs her as he pulls her into his cabin. He releases her once they are inside, and he pulls the chair away from his desk and stands on it. "Bloody Viera, saying those things in my voice. I could have killed her."

"Balthier," she interrupts as he shifts what she has always thought was a light fixture on the ceiling aside and pulls the whole panel down. Climbing off the chair, he leans the panel against his bunk and gestures for her to stand on the chair. Ashe can't move – she has never known terror like this before. The thought of what punishments await her, the look Basch will have on his face when he apprehends her…will it be pity or hatred?

She can hear Fran using her real voice over the radio now. "We are ready for you to begin docking procedures." Then Fran adds a little bit of Balthier in after it. "You'd better make it quick!"

Balthier grins at Fran's imitation of him. "That's my girl." He sighs and steps across his cabin to tug on her arm again. "Up you go," he says, nearly picking up and setting her down on the chair.

"In the ceiling, Balthier?" she asks shakily, her legs wobbling on top of the wooden desk chair. Looking down on him, he is growing impatient, and she imagines that he will bodily force her into the little hiding spot if she doesn't climb.

"Just get up there and be quiet," he hisses at her, giving her a poke in the side. Surely Basch will search every nook of the Strahl for her? Gripping the other panel, she begins to pull herself up into the space between the top of the Strahl's bulkhead and the false ceiling panels. She feels Balthier's hands on her legs then and he tries to help boost her into the space, and there is no time for anger at his touch. Ashe can already hear metallic grinding noises indicating the Strahl's docking within the Archadian ship, and she scrambles up quickly with Balthier's assistance.

The ceiling panels are stronger than they look, and they don't even creak as she lays down on her stomach, turning around to lean her head through the hole in the ceiling where Balthier already has the panel ready to seal her up. "There's a little peephole through the light, and you'll have plenty of air that way too." She scoots back a bit as Balthier fits the panel back again, the snapping bits of metal echoing inside her little coffin of a crawlspace. Leaning back, she tries out the peephole and can see that she has a view of the entire cabin.

Balthier stands on the chair and is looking directly through the hole where he knows she is laying. She begins to speak, but he presses a finger to his lips to encourage her silence. "Whatever happens, you stay there and you keep your mouth shut. Promise me." His eyes are earnest then, the same look he had when he'd told her not to give her heart to nethicite. She trusts those eyes, and she will obey.

"I promise," she whispers back.

Balthier nods and steps down off of the chair, moving it back to his desk, and she watches him run out of the cabin quickly. Ashe closes her eyes and tries to breathe. Her heart is pounding, and she is terrified for Balthier and Fran. They have her stowed away in the damned ceiling, and Basch will be boarding in seconds. Will his loyalties to Larsa and the Empire be stronger than his loyalty to friends? Will he arrest Balthier? Will she be trapped inside the little hiding spot until she dies or surrenders?

The hissing sound of the exit hatch beyond the cabins indicates that the Strahl has docked inside the Alexander's hangar bay. The hatch door closes just as quickly, and the familiar sound of boots and clanking metal indicates that Basch has come aboard. She feels so helpless, hiding inside the panels while Balthier and Fran must lie. At least she hopes they will lie for her.

They are standing just outside in the passage, all three of them, and she can even see the swishing end of Basch's cape just visible from the doorway of the cabin. He has come aboard without his helmet, and seemingly without any accompaniment. "I come alone out of friendship," he explains then, and Ashe can hear the exhaustion in his voice, wondering how many sleepless nights he's had these past few weeks because of her.

Fran's voice is calm. "It is appreciated."

Ashe hopes that nobody can hear her breathing as Basch continues. "You think the radio trick could still fool me?" There is no underlying humor in his voice, and the tension in the air is palpable.

"I am trying to improve," Fran explains calmly. "Balthier's…manner of speaking is not my strongest suit."

Balthier's voice chimes in then. "And she _is_ improving. Good day to you, Captain." She doesn't know how Balthier can keep his voice so steady and even. Basch tends to be rather intimidating in his armor, but he and Balthier are the same height – and the pirate has worn judge's armor before. Perhaps Basch does not frighten him. "Completely random contraband check, no doubt?"

"Cut the act, Balthier," Basch interrupts sharply. "Is she here?"

"I don't follow," the pirate responds, and she can hear him lean against the bulkhead while Basch's cape continues to be visible in the corridor.

"Her Majesty, is she on board your ship?"

There is genuine surprise in Balthier's response, or the closest approximation Ashe has ever heard. He is truly a skillful liar. "What? You're out of your mind…how hard did she hit you really?"

The sound of a fist smacking metal chills her then, and Basch has obviously hit the wall beside Balthier. "The jesting and the cocky attitude ends right now, pirate. If you are harboring her…"

Balthier immediately makes his own voice match the concern and menace in Basch's tone. "What proof do you have that Fran and I have even seen her? I thought she'd run off to Rozarria."

"A young man came forward in Balfonheim and swore that he saw Ashelia with Fran…"

"I find that impossible to believe," Fran interjects, her voice cold and emotionless.

"Oh?" Basch says, and Ashe knows that there is more. There must be more evidence than whatever Loras told them. Otherwise why send the Archadian flagship after the Strahl? "And what of your ship departing Balfonheim early this morning with only one aboard?"

"One? Fran was with me the entire time. Someone needs their eyes checked," Balthier spits back, and he shifts in the corridor to block the entrance to his cabin with his body. He does it so casually, leaning against the doorframe, that Basch doesn't even move.

She cannot tear her eyes away from the scene just paces away from where she is hidden. If Balthier or Fran move for the cockpit or head anywhere else in the ship, will it give them away? "How much was this boy paid to lie and accuse us?" Fran asks.

"Enough!" Basch orders, his voice laced with exasperation. "I beseech you as your friend, have you seen her at all? She needs to be helped. She needs medical care and…"

"Medical care?" Balthier's words are like ice, and she can feel the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rise at the sound. "The woman let her soldiers trample women and children in the streets. What she needs is to be executed as a traitor to her people."

His words stun her. It aches to hear such a thing from Balthier's own lips, even though it is a lie. When the man lies, he seems to go all the way. "Balthier," Fran warns him gently, and Ashe cannot tell if Fran expected him to say such a thing or if it is all a part of the act.

"Have you so little affection for her?" Basch responds sadly. "In the past, I thought you…"

"She is not here!" Balthier argues, the calm in his earlier words gone now in favor of a more dangerous and threatening tone. "We have not seen her, nor do we care to see her ever again. She will not lay her burdens down on us."

Ashe watches Basch move then, standing to face Balthier and now fully visible in the corridor. Balthier still leans in the doorway, and Basch's eyes have dark circles under them from exhaustion. There is still a bandage on the side of his temple where she struck him, and she bites her lip. The confrontation is growing heated between the two men, and she hopes that it will not escalate now that the Strahl is docked within the Alexander.

"You are lying. You lie, and I will tear every little hiding spot on this ship apart," Basch threatens him, standing within Balthier's personal space. She does not know how much more of this she can witness before she will give herself up. Seeing them argue is tearing her up inside – that Balthier would go this far to keep her safe is making her tremble inside the ceiling. She prays that it will not rattle the panels.

Balthier is not intimidated by Basch's closeness. "You overstep your bounds, Your _Honor_," he hisses, referring to Basch's official position for the first time.

"Where else could she have gone?"

"How am I to know the mind of a madwoman?" Balthier replies, straightening his posture to look Basch straight in the eye.

Ashe watches Basch's fist clench. "I will tolerate no further disrespect against Her Majesty."

"Then be gone, she is not here."

The fist begins to shake now. "Foolish pirate, enough of these games! Stand aside!"

Balthier does not budge. "So this is the full strength of the Archadian army? A greedy capital full of poverty-stricken miscreants who would sell their own children for a bit of information and you can't find one pretty blonde woman?"

"Where is Her Majesty, Balthier?"

"You let her escape, Captain. This is not my problem or concern." Ashe wonders why Balthier is being so openly combative – it is not his style. Perhaps he is more nervous than he lets on? Can Basch tell?

"I will not ask you again!"

Ashe can see Balthier's own hand clench into a fist, and she is ready to pound on the panel and demand to be let out. But she remembers the look in Balthier's eyes when he told her to stay put, and she can only watch.

Balthier's voice is low, and she can barely hear him now. "Why don't you save the remaining scraps of your dignity and get back to wiping Larsa's ass…"

She cannot look away as Basch's fist connects with Balthier's face hard enough to knock the pirate to the ground, and he lands on the floor of his cabin. Ashe wants to cry out, and from the dazed look in Balthier's eyes, she realizes that he hadn't expected Basch to do it.

"Basch," Fran's voice says in warning, and she can see the Viera's hand resting on Basch's shoulder.

For his part, the Judge Magister's face is not angry, but shocked. It appears that he acted without even thinking. "My gods, Balthier…I…"

Ashe watches a trickle of blood emerge from Balthier's nose, and he doesn't even try to wipe it away. Sitting up unsteadily, his voice is downright unsettling. "Get off my ship."

Basch holds up his hands in surrender. "I apologize…I should not have…"

"Get off my damn ship before I throw you out the airlock! She's not here!"

Fran's hand becomes more insistent. "Captain…"

Basch staggers back against the bulkhead and exhales a shaky breath. "Yes, I…I will go. I am sorry to have…"

Ashe sees him walk off with Fran, then hears the sound of the hatch door opening once again. She watches Balthier grab the doorframe to rise to his feet. Instead of opening up the ceiling panel, she can only lay there in shock as he stalks into the corridor, and she can hear his footsteps trail off in the direction of the cockpit.


	8. Chapter 8

The Strahl hums in her ears, and she wonders if this is what it feels like to be buried alive. Since Balthier's footsteps retreated minutes ago, she has continued to lay on her stomach and wait. She heard the same scraping metal noises from before – it appears the Alexander has allowed them to leave its confines.

Basch let them go. Balthier's lies must have been convincing enough, but at what cost? The two men had gotten along well enough before and now because of her there is bad blood. Will any of them be able to gain back Basch's trust when this business is over? Thinking back to the look on Basch's face after he had struck Balthier gives her the slightest bit of hope. He had obviously not wanted to go that far – Balthier had clearly goaded him.

The little hiding spot is as warm as the cabin below her, possibly warmer because the metal panels are growing hotter beneath and around her. The Strahl must be using her engines to fly away from the Alexander by now. She hopes it won't grow any hotter if she is to remain in this compartment – Balthier wouldn't be cruel enough to leave her in such discomfort, would he? Balthier's own face had been furious when he rose from his cabin floor, and she wonders if his anger was directed at Basch. Probably not – it was probably directed at her.

The minutes pass and still Balthier and Fran do not come back to let her out, and she feels panic begin to set in. She cannot hear them because the cockpit is too far away, and the humming of the engines is not soothing any longer. Surely they are out of harm's way by now…Balthier has to let her out.

He told her to stay silent, but she will not be held in a metal coffin until they reach Giruvegan. That would be hours, and she will not be cooped up that long. She pounds her palm against the metal. "Balthier!" she calls, her voice echoing off of the metal panels and ringing in her ears.

Only the sound of the engines reaches her ears once more, and it grows warmer inside the ceiling. The ship must be burning more fuel than usual – Balthier is flying faster than he has to. Perhaps he wishes to be done with this business before the Archadians come back after him. "Balthier!" she shouts again, trying to hit the panel harder. She's never been claustrophobic, but if she spends any more time in here she might not be able to avoid an attack of anxiety. Why won't he come for her?

The ship tilts violently then, sending her sliding across the metal until she collides with the corner of the bulkhead. Pain shoots through her arm, but she does her best to ignore it. Balthier is changing course, and that is far more worrying than hitting the wall. "Let me out!" she screams now, not caring how desperate she sounds. She slides back to the opening and pounds it with her fist. Ashe can't see any latches on the inside, but she begins feeling around with her fingers, looking to see if there is any place she can try prying the metal apart.

She continues to hit the metal panel until she has little feeling left in her hand. Finally, she hears footsteps in the room and then she can hear him climb up onto the chair. "You will let me out immediately!" she demands, thumping the metal one more time to express her anger. The panel is withdrawn then, and she sees Balthier step down to put it near his bunk.

Turning around as best she can in the enclosed space, she sticks her legs through the opening and feels him yank her out. He pulls her leg hard until she's almost out, then grabs her around the waist and pulls her all the way back onto the chair. They stand together for a brief moment, and she scowls up at him. "You needn't be so forceful," she spits.

For his part, his face is cold, and she sees that he hasn't yet cleaned up from Basch's punch. Blood still trickles down to rest between his nose and upper lip, and he looks down at her with disgust. Her breath catches at his harsh expression, and she doesn't know what to say. He steps down from the chair first and moves back to the bunk for the panel.

She hops down onto the floor and stands there dumbly while he fits the panel back in the ceiling. "Balthier, let me look at your face," Ashe says quietly as he steps down again and moves the chair back to his desk. He does not comply, instead moving to his cabin door and closing it. It appears that Fran is either not invited to this conversation, or he doesn't want her escaping to seek the Viera's aid.

He leans against the door and crosses his arms and stares at her. "You will be happy to know that the Alexander let us go."

Ashe nods ands moves over to Balthier's desk. There is a handkerchief on top, and she picks it up. If this is the only peace offering she can make, then she will make it. Walking over to him, she grips the handkerchief tightly. "Sit down, let me help."

"It's nothing."

"Balthier, don't be like this." He sighs and moves away from the door. She follows him to his bunk, and he sits down in a huff. She pulls her hand back when he reaches for the handkerchief. "Stop," she tells him. He obeys and merely stares up at her contemptuously.

His eyes are too much to take for right now, so she concentrates on taking care of his bloodied nose. She grips his chin firmly to keep him still and moves the handkerchief to his face. He winces when the cloth brushes against the top of his lip, and she bites her tongue. Balthier has never been a good patient. "Not broken, stop mothering me," he mumbles as she continues to pat the cloth gently against his skin.

"You wanted him to hit you," she remarks, wiping away the red. Finally she allows herself to meet his eyes, and she sees that there is some amusement in them now.

Balthier shrugs. "Well, not exactly. I just thought he'd get annoyed and take off. But whatever works, right Princess?"

"You really think so?" she inquires, thinking about Balthier's comment about Basch's service to Lord Larsa. How had he expected Basch to react to something like that?

He shoves her hand away finally and nods. "Takes a lot for a man like him to throw a punch. He's desperate to find you, Ashe."

She sighs and moves to sit next to him on the bunk, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know." Glancing at the bloodied handkerchief in her hand, she lets it fall to the floor. More blood on her hands. They sit quietly for a few moments, and she closes her eyes. Ashe listens to his even breathing beside her and doesn't know how to thank him for all he has done. He put his life and freedom on the line lying to a Judge of the Empire. "When this is over, I promise that I will repay…"

"Ashe, don't," he says, and she senses some discomfort in his voice. He shifts slightly on the bunk beside her, and she opens her eyes to see his hands are gripping the sheets. "I have to tell you something."

She looks up, putting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "What?"

He flinches when she touches him, and he stands quickly. Picking up the handkerchief she dropped, he carries it back to the desk and sets it down. "Change of plan."

"What do you mean change of plan?" she asks, her stomach suddenly twisting at the abrupt shift in their conversation. Only minutes earlier she slammed into the bulkhead in the ceiling above. He changed course, she remembers.

Balthier won't look at her, busying himself with rearranging some papers and other little items on his desk. "Can't afford to try for Giruvegan now."

She is off of the bunk and by his side in his seconds. "What? Why? They let us go!" He cannot do this, not now. Not after all that happened with Basch. They're in the clear, and the Alexander allowed them to depart. Basch himself apologized as he left the Strahl. What is happening?

He sighs and still won't look at her. Leaning forward, he grips the edge of the desk and hangs his head low. "Too risky right now. Fran agrees. Just because the Alexander let us leave, that doesn't mean Basch will stop. They'll be watching us."

Her heart is racing nearly as fast as it had when she watched Basch and Balthier's confrontation. They must make for Giruvegan before Dalmasca is threatened even more by Rozarria. "Then…then drop me off," she tries bargaining. "Take me to Paramina, and you needn't see me again."

"We _are_ dropping you off," he admits quietly, but she can tell that there is still something he is not telling her.

"Where? Why are you being cryptic with me, Balthier?"

He turns to look at her, and his eyes are serious. "Sit down. This is not a negotiation, Princess."

Balthier allows her to pull him away from the desk and only raises his eyebrows as she holds onto him by his stiff leather vest. "You can't do this. Where are you taking me?"

He looks down at her, and she doesn't know if he is sympathetic or just tired from the day's events. "You asked for my help," he says, placing his hands over hers tightly. He could probably break her fingers with little effort if he truly wanted to restrain her. "And I'm helping you."

She tries pulling away, but he will not release her hands. He is not taking her where she needs to go. Why won't he take her there? Why is he doing this? Her eyes are itching, and she tries desperately not to show her weakness when he clearly has the upper hand. "Are you helping me?" she asks angrily. "Because it is becoming clear to me that we are not on course to Giruvegan."

"Let me ask you a question, Princess," he answers darkly, leaning forward until he is only a few inches away from her face. "Let's suppose we were going to Giruvegan."

She can feel the tears forming in her eyes, and she is anxious to wipe them away before he sees them. Yet he still will not release her. He will see her brought so low?

He continues, his voice cold and almost malicious. "Do you have a plan? Were we to go in blind?"

"I…I haven't..."

"No, clearly you haven't," he replies harshly, releasing her hands and stepping away from her. It is all falling apart. All of her fears are becoming real. Why doesn't she have a plan? He must think her an idiot. "You will have plenty of time to think when…"

The pain is sharp and brings her to her knees in moments. No, they can't do this to her. They cannot add to her burdens, not now. She can barely breathe and it feels like there is something pressing down on the back of her eyes. The colorful rug on Balthier's floor is blurring, and she grips it in her fists. The nausea is overwhelming, and she is terrified.

Her mouth is dry and when she speaks, she feels like she is out of her own body. "Balthier, please…"

She can feel warmth beside her, his arm going around her shoulders and holding her tightly. She thinks he might be saying her name, although the sound of his voice is muddled in her head as she sees spots in front of her eyes. The ache increases, and she cannot remember pain this horrible in her life. Ashe can vaguely hear Balthier shouting for Fran. They are supposed to subdue her if she has an episode, aren't they? Why isn't he striking her? Why won't he do it?

"You have to…" she tries to say, but another cutting pain almost like a blow to her skull keeps the words from coming. She can feel his fingers trailing through her hair, and they are trembling almost as if he is afraid she will die if he is not keeping a hold on her. "You must hit me before they take me…"

His voice is louder then as he shouts again for Fran to come, and she thinks she hears the cabin door open, but she is too busy trying to keep breathing. It is almost like she is being choked as Balthier continues to brush his fingers through her hair. The sensation is almost soothing, and she tries to concentrate on it. The argument they were having fades away as he holds her close.

"I can't do it, Fran," she hears him say, his voice so close to her. "I can't." Fran's murmured reply does not reach her ears. The feeling of him beside her vanishes, and his fingers are gone from her hair.

"Come back," she lets herself croak, missing his closeness. It was helping her – it was keeping her strong. He has always tried to keep her strong. Instead she hears Fran's voice right beside her ear. The language she speaks is not one Ashe knows, and it almost sounds like a hummed melody. It is not lessening the pain, but she knows it is a distraction. Balthier cannot strike her down – and the duty has fallen to his partner.

She hears a whispered apology, and feels Fran's long fingers on her neck before all she knows is darkness.

-----

She wakes in Balthier's bunk, the scent of that damned cologne of his doing a fine job of rousing her from sleep. The pain is gone, and she feels almost refreshed. The familiar hum of the engines is gone, so she knows they've landed. Ashe moves to sit up, clutching the blankets tightly. Where are they?

She can remember the headache. The Occuria were trying to reach her once more – what would they have had her do this time? Would she have killed her friends? Crashed their ship? Fran's voice still echoes in her mind. Thank the gods for Fran. Whatever the Viera did to subdue her had caused her no pain. And since she can still see the bloodied handkerchief from earlier on the desk, she imagines that little time has passed. She has not lost days this time. They were not able to maintain their hold on her.

The small porthole by Balthier's desk might give her some clue as to where he's taken her. She rises from the bunk slowly, her limbs feeling stiff but otherwise functioning. When she looks out, she wants to scream.

The ruins. The island, the blue waters – and now she can hear the roar of the cataract. Craning her neck to look out, she sees the Pharos looming in the distance. He's taken her to Ridorana. He said they were dropping her off – it is far worse than that. They are abandoning her here at the edge of the world.

Racing for the door, she isn't entirely surprised to discover it is locked from outside. "Balthier!" She pounds on it like she had hit the panel in the ceiling. She moves from one trap to another. "You are not leaving me here! I will not stay!" She will swim back to shore before she spends one hour on this abandoned island. A clever choice, Ridorana, she thinks. Not many other ships with skystones capable of reaching it. A fitting safe haven…or a fitting prison.

Several minutes of demanding her release earn her nothing, and she paces the floor angrily. She must go to Giruvegan – they cannot expect her to sit here. Moving back to the porthole, she can see Balthier and Fran walking back together down the steep path. The both of them seem rather subdued, their steps slower than usual. She hears the hatch open, and she hurries back to the door.

"I am not staying here! Balthier!" she shouts, banging on the door. She hears a few clicks on the other side, and Balthier enters. His eyes are tired, and she imagines that neither he nor Fran have even slept since they left Balfonheim the morning before. "You cannot do this."

He sighs. "Don't make me carry you off the ship. I'll do it."

She scowls at him. "You would abandon me? Leave me to live out my days in exile with the beasts here?"

Balthier rolls his eyes and holds the door expectantly. "We're not abandoning you. Spare me the dramatics, will you? Get moving."

Ashe has little choice, and she departs the cabin and walks to the exit hatch. The stone ground is a change from the metal interior of the Strahl, and the long abandoned city of Ridorana greets her as it had two years earlier. The remnants of temples, arenas, and homes await just up the footpath as the giant Pharos reaches to the heavens in the distance. The sight of the ancient structure, its upper floors naught more than rubble now, chills her to the bone.

Fran is waiting outside, and she gives Balthier a nod when they pass. She heads back into the ship while Ashe follows Balthier up the path, her arms crossed defiantly. The sky pirate remains quiet as he leads her, and she stares at his back. He thinks this will help her? It will only make things worse. What if the Occuria decide to leave her to this exile and invade the mind of someone else? She is powerless to prevent that here on this island.

They descend into what was probably once the marketplace of the deserted city, their footsteps kicking up dust that burns her eyes. At the end of a twisting road, Balthier brings her to a simple stone building that still has a door on rusted, but sturdy hinges. "For privacy," he mumbles quietly as he demonstrates that the door still functions. Privacy from whom, she wonders, stifling the urge to laugh at the insanity of it all.

Balthier and Fran must have been carrying supplies back and forth for some time. They've set up a bed for her, probably with the mattress from Fran's cabin. Balthier gestures around like he is giving her the grand tour. "Food for a week. Water. Blankets," he explains in turn, then moves to one crate and opens it. He holds up a few books with a weak smile. "Even some reading material. About pirates, naturally."

She keeps her arms tightly at her sides so she doesn't start to beat him. "And the fiends?"

He has anticipated the question and removes one of his own firearms from another crate, holding it out to her like a flag of surrender. "I trust you know how to work one?" She refuses to take it, and he sets it back on top of the crate with a frown.

Ashe peruses the crates to confirm all the supplies they have left her. It is probably all the food her jewels purchased anyhow. Her fingers flit across the leather covers of the books, and she can see that he and Fran went to a great deal of trouble to provide her with entertainment and plenty of food and water. But this is all wrong…she cannot be left here. She will go mad all by herself – no need for Occurian assistance.

"Stay in the village," he orders her. "The last place you need to be is the Pharos. I don't care how bored you are…stay out of there."

"And where are you going?" she asks through gritted teeth. It is clear that there is only a set-up for one person. He and Fran are truly leaving her behind.

He faces her, putting his hands on his hips like he usually does when he is feeling less than patient with her. "Rabanastre, Archades, bouncing around."

"And I'm just to sit here?"

"Yes, that would be the idea," he confirms for her. "Fran and I make our faces known. Authorities are bound to get warrants to search the Strahl. They won't find you…Fran and I remain above suspicion."

She takes a step toward him, her hands becoming fists at her side. He is being awfully trusting, leaving the firearm within arm's reach of her. If he lets his guard down, she could pull the gun on him and demand he take her to Giruvegan. Maybe he is testing her…she cannot afford to turn on him, not now. He is her only way off of this island.

"Wait for things to settle," he continues. "Then we come back for you. If it lasts longer than a week, we'll bring you more supplies, but I don't see that happening." His plan is actually rather sound. There is no better way to prove to Basch and the other authorities that they do not harbor her. But what she does not have is the luxury of time – who knows what chaos occurs in Dalmasca in her absence? Her people are surely frightened by all the upheavals and threats from Rozarria. She loathes herself for being too weak to go to Giruvegan alone.

She remembers the way he stroked her hair, the hoarseness in his voice when he called for Fran's help. How can he be that man, that friend, and still leave her behind? "You cannot leave me here," she begs, her voice cracking.

He moves away from the crates and places his hands on her shoulders. "I can."

"Don't," she pleads with him. "Balthier, please don't…"

She is surprised then when his hands move from her shoulders to her face, and he brings his mouth to hers. It is the last thing she expects, but his lips are insistent and all she can do is allow it. She can barely process a single thought because it is really happening and it's Balthier, and she moves her hands to embrace him, to beg him not to leave her behind.

He deepens the kiss, moaning slightly against her mouth as he does so, and she feels a shudder course down her spine at the sound of it. She doesn't know why, but she wants this just as much as he does. Her mind is racing through all of the moments they've shared together, all his playful teasing and then she dwells on his sometimes cold behavior around her. He is so many different things, wears so many different faces in her presence, but right now he is warm and his hands are in her hair. He's been staring at her hair since he saw her again, and she doesn't want him to stop. She is being kissed by Balthier, and she is kissing him back and it has stunned her, shaking her to her core. His strong hands move from her hair to her back, holding her firmly against him. She is nearly out of breath, and she knows that once the moment is over that the spell will break. He will leave her there and fly away.

Balthier breaks the kiss first, pressing his lips against her forehead. "I am trying to keep you safe," he whispers against her skin, and she keeps her eyes pressed tightly shut. She clings to him as he starts to pull away, her sob catching in her throat as he does so. "We'll come back, I promise you."

She cannot open her eyes, and she stands there in the middle of the abandoned stone building as his footsteps scrape the floor and the door slams shut. Ashe listens to him walk the gravel path until she can no longer hear his presence. Opening her eyes, she looks around at her new prison, and she cannot stand it.

Hurrying out of the building, she runs up the path after him. It is steep and she trips, sending up a cloud of choking dust and scraping her knees on the rocky ground. Pulling herself desperately to her feet, she keeps running. She is nearly to the edge when she hears the Strahl's engines nearly explode in her ears with their sound. The ship rising from its mooring sends another avalanche of dust spraying in her direction, and she finally screams.

She watches the ship lift from the ground, its wings opening up and outward as he and Fran take off. Ashe falls to her knees and cries out, a wordless scream that hurts her throat and her chest, but it is the only response she knows as the Strahl rockets away into the west.


	9. Chapter 9

Her ladies arrange the pins in her hair and set out a pair of pearl earrings. Her gown feels heavy for the weather, but it is her finest one, and she always feels in control wearing it, as if the cloth itself is imbued with power. The girls embrace her in turn, kneeling down to kiss the hem of the gown before departing the room. A guard appears at the door and won't meet her eyes.

She nods and allows him to escort her from her chambers. The palace is awash with light, as though the sun itself has burst and it hurts her eyes terribly. Her shoes click and echo off of the tiles as she descends from her wing of the palace and down the stairs to the main hall. She can already hear the shouts outside but concentrates on the pulsing of her heart, the sound of her shoes keeping an even beat, and the way the jewels around her neck seem to clack against each other as she walks.

The sunlight on the ground level is even more unbearable, and she keeps her eyes to the floor. The light seems to bounce off of the metal of the guard's armor as he leads her out into the open, and it almost burns. The shouting is even more raucous now that she has been spotted. The usually manicured lawns and gardens within the palace walls are trampled and full of her people. There are children atop of parents' shoulders and unwashed faces watching every footstep.

The platform is simple and constructed from wood. The steps creak as she climbs them, and she can see the stone, the tiny dip on one end where she is to rest her chin. A hand reaches out for her, and she sees the rings upon it and knows it is him. He kneels before her, lifting the bottom of the gown to his lips and letting it go before he disappears from her vision.

Basch waits beside the block, not in his armor as Judge Magister but in the military regalia of the Knights of the Old Order. She remembers him in this armor the day he and Rasler departed Rabanastre, and she smiles at the memory. "Hello, Basch," she whispers despite the raucous crowd, and he nods.

He unsheathes his sword and holds it by his side. "I ask your forgiveness."

"And you have it. You have it," she replies earnestly. She turns away from him and faces the sea of people before her. Their faces are indistinct now, but in the front row, Balthier is there. There is a sullen smirk on his face, that nonchalant look Fran often termed "intense panic" and only then does she begin to worry. "Basch, what is happening?"

She feels the knight's hand upon her shoulder, and he gently eases her down to her knees before the stone. Her hands shakily grip the block, and she hears some cleric, probably an acolyte of Kiltia, begin to recite scripture but she doesn't recognize the passage.

"My lady," Basch's voice whispers beside her head. "It is time."

Somehow she knows what she must do, but Balthier is shaking his head in the front row. Basch's hand is in the pins and jewels of her hair as he urges her to lean forward and lay her chin in the dip of the block. Why is Balthier so convinced that this must not be? She can see him being restrained by soldiers, but now that her chin is pressed down she can only see a pile of straw and a woven basket on the platform before her.

Gerun's voice is in her head then. "It will end this way if you allow it."

-----

A cold sweat is on her skin as she stirs from the dream, the crates in the stone room around her informing her nightmare-addled mind that she hasn't moved from the bed under Occurian sway. Ashe blinks a few times and sighs, stretching her limbs overhead and rising shakily to sit up in the bed. Three nights on Ridorana and each night the same dream. The palace, the platform, and the basket waiting to catch her head.

She sets her feet on the floor and relishes the cool feeling of the stone floor beneath them, the roughened texture poking and prodding to assure her that she is awake and alive. Rising, she moves to the door and opens it, letting the breeze from the sea raise the hairs on her arms and the roaring of the cataract reach her ears. It is a cruel prison here. Had he even thought it through?

Under persecution from those Undying and he left her in sight of that damned Pharos, a construct of Occurian design. Her eyes can never look away from it for very long – and these three days have been full of the blasted building. Don't go near it, he told her. She has not and will not. She would rather dive into the sea than set foot inside the place again, but it is never far from her thoughts. The place mocks her. Though the cryst within was destroyed, the immortal ones still hold sway in Ivalice. Balthier's father was wrong – history is not yet in the hands of men.

Ashe is losing track of time. Most of her hours have been spent sleeping or laying about in a deep melancholy at her present lack of freedom. After so many days on the road fleeing, she is now "safe" but is not safe from her own mind. Gerun only seems to visit in her dreams, and during the day Ashe only has herself for company. And thus she spends those hours of sunlight wondering if he and Fran will actually come back for her.

The Occuria are mighty – they could manipulate the fates to keep the Strahl away, could they not? She will run out of supplies and will die starved and alone, the giant shadow of the Pharos looming over her as a reminder of what has beaten her. Why do they not twist her mind and have her jump? She's walked through the ruins and around to the cliffs at the eastern edge of the isle – the waters there disappearing into foam so far down she cannot see the bottom.

What lies there? She's grown so starved for something to do that she has imagined that the afterlife lies there at the bottom of the waterfall. Her father and mother are there, Rasler and Vossler as well. Why not join them? Perhaps the people who lived on this isle hundreds of years earlier thought the same and did not so much vanish as just jump. Maybe they too ran out of a way to subsist on the island. The Jagd may have disabled any means of leaving, and they were left to die as Balthier has left her.

But her mind always returns, and she is able to turn away from the falls. He said he would return for her, and she knows that Fran is not so heartless as to leave her. But the promises of pirates mean little if they are detained or something happens to their ship – one of only a handful that can make the journey here to Ridorana. Turning away from the door, she snags one of the books from the crate and laces up her boots. If she doesn't distract herself, she will waste hours imagining what will befall her.

There is plenty of moonlight to read by, and she trudges up the paths to the abandoned arena. What events were staged here? She clambers over the broken steps and sits down, clutching the book in her arms. She envisions men fighting animals, fighting one another. Sighing, she opens the book and tries to ignore the ghosts of the civilization that disappeared. He had not lied – all of the books he left for her are about pirates.

_This is the story of the Dread Pirate Balthier._

She blinks a few times and reads the opening line once more.

_This is the story of the Dread Pirate Balthier._

Ashe cannot stifle her laughter and must set the book down. Three days of misery are forgotten for a few minutes as she marvels at the book he's left. She's known all this time that Balthier is not his real name – he changed it when he first took to pirating, but he had never been ready to explain where he came up with the name. He'd been dismissive when she'd asked years earlier, simply saying that his real name was too well-known and not theatrical enough for piracy. And after all of that he'd simply stolen it from a book?

She smiles and opens the book again. The moonlight fades and the sun rises while her eyes flicker across the pages. It is not the best written book she has ever read, but it is certainly one of the most amusing. The Dread Pirate Balthier is a gentleman rogue and wears a grand hat with a feather. Ashe wonders what her real life Balthier would look like in a feathered cap. The character is a lover of many women but most loyal to the sea and his ship. He has no other home but the wooden planks of his deck and the wind at his back, and she sighs. The whole persona Balthier crafted is a theft with just a switch of venue from sea to sky.

What Ashe has given little thought to is the way Balthier parted from her days earlier. It is pointless to think about, she tells herself. Meaningless, surely. Balthier has been a friend for some time now, and though she pondered it years before and her mind has wandered to thoughts of him during her exile, there isn't really a chance he feels anything more. She's reasoned that the kiss was a way to shut her up, to stun her so completely that he could run off and be gone with the Strahl before she drew breath again.

And he had done a remarkable job shutting her up. She presses her fingers against her lips, remembering how roughly he'd forced himself upon her…almost as if he could not contain the emotions within him. His hands had caressed and nearly possessed her skin, the groan she'd heard from deep within his throat almost sounding primal in her ears. Sighing, she wonders if it was really an act. It wouldn't surprise her – the very same Balthier, ever cool and confident, had managed to get Basch to slug him. He could probably convince anyone that a kiss from him is genuine if he kisses like that regularly.

Why in Ivalice had she kissed him back? By all accounts she should have slapped him. Ashe tries to consider it all rationally. She was out of sorts and in shock at the time. She was vulnerable, and a man like Balthier was able to use that against her. Nothing more. But doubts linger. What if it wasn't another of Balthier's games? What could it mean? He'd never overstepped the bounds of their friendship even in their most threatening hours years ago – why lose restraint at that particular point in time? It's not like him.

And here she is doing the one thing she'd vowed not to waste time on. She picks up the book about the Dread Pirate Balthier and hurls it from her seat in the stands until it falls onto the dirt arena floor, kicking up a cloud of dust as it skitters against the other wall. This is all pointless behavior, she tells herself. Balthier kissed her, she kissed him back and that should be the end of it. There is no time for a romantic dalliance with him, especially not now. Especially not _ever_, she reminds herself.

Has she forgotten so quickly where her duty lies? Dalmasca is far from her in distance but not in feeling. Her country is her love, her people are as her own children and no arrogant, greedy, insufferable, thieving, conniving man could come before that. But the way he'd looked at her…

"Oh, for a way to excise you from my brain, pirate!" she shouts to the heavens in her frustration, rising from the steps and departing the arena as the sun rises higher in the sky to bring the morning fully to Ridorana.

Ashe hates having nothing to do. This is the worst torture imaginable, this holiday-like imprisonment. As Queen, her ministers had oft urged her to take a moment's respite, but she did not see the point. The laborers in the fields did not rest, the soldiers at their posts did not holiday in a summer palace…why should the Queen be different? And she would rather be busy. Idleness sets her into a frenzied state.

She trudges back to the little stone house and begins digging through the crates from the Strahl. Thinking of Dalmasca rather than the curious business with Balthier's show of affection has renewed her spirits. Before all this Occurian nonsense, she was working on rewriting her laws. And why should she stop? Her duty is to her country and now that she is not on the run, she should be using her time for Dalmasca, not for wallowing and pining.

There are some rather fancy pens and a jar of ink in one crate, and Balthier had not expressly outlawed her from defacing his property. She rips blank pages from the front and back of Balthier's books, feeling some satisfaction in this task since he has left her so confused. Gathering up the papers, the pens and ink, she departs the stone dwelling again since she feels too claustrophobic within its walls.

There is an open square just down the path, and she gets to work. The next two days are spent not in misery but in excitement. She fills the blank pages front and back with suggestions, with changes, with completely new ideas for laws and regulations. She fills the margins of Balthier's books with ink, crafting policy for Dalmasca as she had done every day for the two short years she spent ruling it.

Who knows what is happening there? Five days on Ridorana and a fortnight on the run and away from her troubled country have left her ignorant, but she finally feels useful once more. Inspiration has struck her, and it never would have had she not been so afflicted by the dreadful influence of Gerun and the other immortal ones. Ashe has written something that would have perplexed and confused her but a month earlier, but it all makes so much sense that she wonders why Dalmasca had never considered it before.

At the edges of _Reanne the Pirate Queen_, Ashe has set in motion the end of the Dalmascan monarchy. She smiles at the thought of it as she glances down at her work once more. It is almost too amusing that she chose such a book for this scribbling, but she would rather be possessed by this sort of madness than any other. When the Occuria set upon her mind and stole time from her, her ministers had done nothing but verbally reprimand her. In the laws Ashe has now conceived, any monarch that stands as a threat to the logical governance of Dalmasca can be ousted from office.

She has stolen a bit of Archadia's system, she realizes. The Dalmascan monarch's council will receive an elevated status not so unlike the Archadian Senate, and though the Solidors now stand as undisputed emperors, it was not always so. In Ashe's new proposed constitution, the monarch is no longer to be anointed as Dynast-King and treated as some god come down from the heavens. If the monarch fails at his duty, his reign is to be terminated. She understands, smiling at the pages, that were such a law in effect now that her rule would now be over. But she intends for it to be a check on her own power so this can never happen again. When she returns to Dalmasca, and by the gods, she has vowed to do so, Dalmasca will change. She will see to it that the will of the people outweighs the will of the sovereign.

She is rereading these pages again and again, pride in her country and this potential new direction seizing her with such joy that she barely notices the sound of the airship engines over the roar of the cataract behind her. Though Dalmasca may hate her now, she will make things right. Ashe reads the words aloud, tears brimming in her eyes at the thought of a Dalmasca that could never come under tyranny as Archadia and Rozarria had in years past.

"Highness," she hears behind her, and she finally turns around to see Fran standing behind her. "Did you not hear us approach?"

Hurrying to her feet, she greets her companion with a smile. They've come back for her – he hadn't lied, and she has not been abandoned. "You've no idea how glad I am to see your face once more, Fran."

The Viera nods. "I am afraid that our reunion comes at a price, Majesty. Let us gather your things, and we depart finally for Paramina."

Fran is already walking away, and Ashe barely realizes everything that is happening at once. Just moments earlier she was drafting a new form of government and reality has come crashing down again. Dalmasca, threatened by Rozarria, must be saved – and only she can do so. Gathering up the scraps of paper and the books she's ruined with her scribbles, Ashe hurries after Fran and back to the stone house.

There is tension in the air now, her past few days of frenzied writing having distracted her quite effectively from the dangers she still faces. Now that she will be leaving her prison and setting out for Giruvegan again, Ashe realizes that she's given little thought to what she must do. Drafting legislation has been almost too easy – she has yet to contend with the immortals who would rain destruction down upon her people and herself. Fran is already emerging from the dwelling with a crate in her arms, and Ashe hurriedly tosses her drafts back in with the rest of Balthier's books and follows the Viera back to the Strahl.

The reality of seeing Balthier again also strikes, a slow burning embarrassment that she's been able to bury for the past few days but that now emerges all the more painfully. As she and Fran travel back and forth to the building for the remainder of the supplies, Balthier does not leave the cockpit. Will it be awkward between them now? Will he simply laugh at the silly feelings she can no longer deny? Can she simply stifle them and move on with what she must still accomplish? Is such a thing even possible after the way she'd returned his affections?

The house is emptied after a few more trips, and Fran has told her to leave the mattress behind. Taking one final look at the Pharos, its shadow blanketing part of the island in darkness, Ashe carries the firearm Balthier gave her into the Strahl and closes the hatch.

Moving to his cabin, she sets the gun down by the wooden armoire where he keeps all of his weapons locked away. She hears the Strahl's hum once more, and the past five days are all but erased as she feels the airship lift from the ground. Ashe steels herself for the inevitable and emerges from Balthier's cabin. Her steps are measured as she walks to the cockpit, seeing the clouds parting and nothing but blue skies and seas ahead.

Fran is in her seat beside Balthier, and she wonders how much the Viera knows about what went on between her and her partner. Ashe keeps her eyes anywhere but on the pilot's chair as she enters and sits down and buckles in. Fran turns to her and nods, and she can hear Balthier's fingers tapping on the control panels and can already smell him.

"Welcome back," he greets her, his voice not indicating any change in the slightest between them, and since she cannot see his face, she can only assume that the kiss meant nothing or will not be discussed in front of Fran…or at all.

She grips the armrests of the seat and looks out the windows, the color of the waters below calming her racing heart. "I am happy to be away from there. Rather thoughtless of you to leave me in a place of such Occurian influence."

He snorts at that, the usual humor surfacing. "I'll have no complaining in my cockpit. Go converse with the walls of the engine room, Princess, for I've little patience for moaning when I'm flying."

Ashe cannot help but grin at that, and it soothes her. There is no cruelty in his words, no indication that he dislikes her. Fran does not react to what Balthier says, instead looking over sympathetically. "We have done what is necessary to evade their suspicions," the Viera explains. "Two days in Archades, two in Nalbina. The ship was searched each time."

"And we would have been in Rabanastre right now…" Balthier begins, but even the name of her capital has immediately set her on edge again.

"What of Dalmasca? What troubles yet face my country?" she interrupts, seeing Fran's face darken considerably.

Fran exchanges a look with Balthier then, and Ashe's worry grows. "It is…the same. Your council still maintains order, and Ondore continues to deliver grain – at least that is the news from Nalbina."

"But?"

Balthier chimes in this time. "But there is some rather strange business in Rozarria that is giving the good councilors of Rabanastre cause for alarm. Word has it that the Emperor Hammad has been acting…out of sorts these past few days."

Ashe's heart sinks. "Out of sorts in what way?"

Fran frowns, tapping her nails on the console before her. "Erratic behavior, claims of missing time. One day, he called off the embargo on Dalmasca only to reinforce it the following morning."

The realization of what is happening leaves her nauseated. "My gods, they've gotten to Hammad. Why bother with me when Hammad could destroy all of Ivalice?" The Emperor of Rozarria has long been obsessed with warring, and his people have always been overwhelmingly supportive of his military – Al-Cid and his loyal followers being the only truly peaceful faction of that empire. "They will have Hammad crush Rabanastre all to punish me." A much more comprehensive revenge against her, surely.

"Which is why we came to fetch you," Balthier explains calmly. "If the Occuria are occupied with their new little Hume friend in Rozarria, perhaps a bit of poking around Giruvegan will escape their notice."

"Balthier thinks the Occuria to be a rather single-minded group of immortals," Fran responds critically. "I do not think them so foolish."

"They let us wander about the place before!" her partner shoots back, and Ashe doesn't understand how the pair of them can be so casual about it all. Hammad is now more dangerous than ever if he is under Occurian sway, and Dalmasca can be crushed within days if the Rozarrian war machine is assembled. "It isn't like they have much security!"

Ashe forgets the scribbles in the books, the thought of laws and regulations and rises to her feet. Finally, she stands in between Balthier and Fran, meeting his face for the first time since she's been back on the ship. Though she can feel her face flush at the sight of him, the thought of Hammad striking her capital is enough to give her the strength to endure whatever feelings she seems to have more strongly developed in Balthier's presence.

"I do not care what we have to do. We will go to Giruvegan and think of some way to stop them. The means of their own destruction lay there, I am sure of it. Rozarria cannot stir against Dalmasca – it would only set Archadia up for war again, and I will not be the cause of more death," she argues. "If you must fly this ship apart, Balthier, you will get her to Paramina before the night is over."

"As Her Majesty commands," he responds cheerfully, and Ashe is jolted back against the seat as he casually flicks a switch and the ship propels forward at top speed. She doesn't bother chastising him – they'll need their wits and tempers about them for the next several days. Paramina is always treacherous and the Feywood even more so.

The journey from Ridorana is long, and she brings the books and papers into Fran's cabin to examine them again while she has time to spare. The hours pass as she makes a few more edits here and there. A knock at the door reveals the cabin's owner, and she looks up. "Balthier will be displeased with what you have done to his books."

She stretches and sighs. "He left me little choice. There was no parchment to write on, so I used what was available to me."

The Viera sits beside her on the floor and begins examining the papers. "You drafted legislation?"

"Better than spending all of my time bemoaning my situation," she replies. "Although I must admit I did spend the first few days doing so."

"As anyone would were they faced with the same dilemma," Fran assures her. "We are sorry to have left you. We were torn over the decision, but you understand why?"

Ashe nods. "I suppose it has given us clearance to travel to Paramina unhindered." Nagging thoughts of Balthier that she cannot suppress bubble up and catch in her throat. She busies herself with the papers before she asks Fran about her partner. Ashe is aware that Fran is the person most likely to know the innermost depths of Balthier's heart, but it would only complicate things further. The three of them will be in close quarters for the next few days – there is no time for such silly things.

But why can't she put it from her mind? She was able to ignore it successfully for the last days on the island, but now that she is back aboard the Strahl, she is troubled by her feelings. Her renewed and reaffirmed love for Dalmasca remains unchanged, but a new love is working its way inside as well. Can she even call it love after one hurried kiss of desperation? Will she even have time to confront Balthier about his intentions?

Fran seems to sense her retreat into her own thoughts, and she rises. "Rest here, Majesty. We will wake you when we reach Paramina. And I promise you that there will be no detours this time."

The Viera is almost to the door. "Fran?" She shouldn't, she mustn't. Why can't she suppress this? "Can I ask you something?"

But somehow Fran has seen it coming. "That is not for me to say. You'd best speak with him yourself." She turns back and is almost smiling. "Get some rest."

Her sleep is troubled, and it takes Fran a few moments to rouse her when they arrive. The Viera gives her a warm coat to wear in the snows and a brand new sword and shield. She doesn't ask who paid for it, but the look Fran gives her when she hands them over is the only answer she needs. Damn him! He is the most confusing man she's ever known.

They gather their packs together while Balthier activates the Strahl's cloak. The wind whips at her face, but she is grateful for the new coat to protect her from the elements. They will spend a day wandering through to the Feywood from here, and it will be slow-going. Balthier walks ahead, his gun perched lazily on his shoulder and Fran follows.

Ashe stands back, examining the snowy mountain terrain around her. She kneels down and scoops up a handful of the snow in her hand. She remembers the vial Balthier brought her only weeks earlier and how it was merely water then. Ashe lets the snow fall through her fingers and back to the ground. Giruvegan awaits.


	10. Chapter 10

The bitter winds that characterize Paramina are not at all present in the Feywood, but it is no less treacherous. Ashe is grateful to be able to shed the heavy woolen coat and can swing her sword arm more freely, but the swirling Mist in the ancient forest is just as confounding as she remembers it. She must stand near her companions or she will surely lose them. The clusters of petrified trees and clear brooks are beautiful, but it is easy to lose one's way. The Mist is thick here and even more impenetrable in the snow fields beyond.

The ground is soft under her boots and not as slick as the icy rift was the day before. There had been little conversation among the three of them. The snows had been furious, and merely marching through it had exhausted them so much that they fell asleep without a word spoken in their camp. They'd entered the Feywood early that morning and are making slow, but steady progress. By evening they will reach the less confining snowfields and will hopefully be able to shelter in one of the ancient shrines that dot the landscape.

A strange calm has settled over her since she entered the Feywood. Perhaps the many days of longing to get here have brought this feeling on, but she doesn't dare discuss it with Balthier or Fran. They will think it some Occurian interference, and Ashe has already noticed some unease on the Viera's part. She remembers how terribly the Mist can affect the Viera, and she feels horrible for making Fran return here. Ashe watches the way Balthier always keeps within an arm's reach of his partner and how his eyes dart sideways to see how the Mist affects her.

Ashe trails behind them a few paces since she has not had as much practice in the field as they have in her two years cooped up in her palace. She was so obsessed with reaching the ancient city the last time she was here that she paid her surroundings little heed, and she is now discovering how truly beautiful this forest is. A dangerous beauty, she reasons, but the trees soar far overhead while flakes of snow swirl about in a dance all their own. She catches brief glimpses of herself as Mist surrounds her, but as soon as her mirrored twin is visible, it disappears.

It will be another full day's walk once they reach the snowfields, provided that the Mist doesn't act up. That would add another day to their journey if they are turned about by the trickery of the seemingly endless plains of white. Giruvegan waits beyond, and Ashe wonders if the stone gate will allow them passage. Vaan alone has the ability to call forth Belias, but Ashe imagines that the trick needed only work once. She will pry the door open with her bare hands if she must.

They round a cluster of trees, stepping over the gnarled roots only to spy a large grouping of bird-like creatures, one of the many peculiar inhabitants of this wood. Their screams echo as they are spotted, and Ashe draws her sword quickly, setting her pack down on the ground. Fran deftly draws her bow and sends an arrow through the head of the first creature while Balthier's gun crackles, felling a second. This has given her an opening to get in closer with her sword.

The whooshing of arrows and the popping of the shotgun are mere background noise to her as she slices her way through, deflecting their heavy wings as best she can with her shield. Some more creatures fall to her companions' attacks while her sword finds a good spot in the creatures' ribs. She does not take the time to wonder at their origin – of fiends that walk upright like men but have wings. If she hesitates, they could very well take her head off.

But again, it has been some time since she was at her peak of strength and one of the angered beasts swats hard, knocking her to the ground. Though her pride is more wounded than her body, she is still too stunned to move and awaits another strike. Fortunately, the creature collapses backward, having been beaten in the head soundly by the butt of Balthier's shotgun. Fran has managed to dispatch the remainder, and the sky pirate holds out a hand.

"I should have given you the gun, Princess," he remarks as he hauls her up. His hand seems to linger on her wrist for a few seconds before Fran joins them, and he snatches it back to turn away and apparently inspect the corpses for anything of worth.

"Are you injured?" Fran asks her, and she shakes her head. "We ought to rest and take our midday meal. The afternoon will take us even further into the Mist."

Ashe nods in agreement, brushing dirt from her clothes. She and Fran set down their packs and set out some food. It is good to take a rest, and her feet ache from the two days of walking. They've settled beneath a small grouping of trees, and she leans her back against the rough bark, letting her fingers brush over the twisted roots. Balthier arrives a short time later, his arms full of some metallic plating from the creatures' wings, and she shakes her head.

"Did you really need to pillage now?" she asks.

He puts the metal in his own pack and scowls at her. "Perhaps you've forgotten my vocation, Princess. I am a man concerned with treasure."

"Even now when it is dangerous? It's not as if you'll be heading to the bazaar to trade those tomorrow," she complains, helping herself to some dried meat and a chunk of bread.

"Especially now when it is dangerous, Highness," Fran interjects wryly. "You may not know this, but Balthier likes busying himself with his pirating in moments of abject terror."

"Abject terror?" her partner protests. "I am anything but terrified. It costs money to fuel an airship, Fran. Unless you'd prefer to flap your arms and see how far you get, hmm?"

Ashe smiles and snatches Balthier's canteen from him. "Fran, I don't know how you put up with this."

The Viera smirks and chews a piece of bread. "My punishment for leaving the silence of the Wood."

Balthier rolls his eyes and takes turns glaring at the two of them. "What is this nonsense? I am not going to endure much more of this feminine chatter," he moans. "Gang up on me one more time, and I'll leave you both to have tea with the Occuria while I get drunk on some Bhujerban madhu on board the Strahl."

Fran rises to her feet and shakes her head. "I've only said what you've deserved," she notes, gathering her bow and quiver once more. "I'll go on ahead and check to make sure the paths are clear."

She departs, and Ashe watches Balthier make a face behind the Viera's back. "Sometimes I wonder how the two of you can snipe at each other like that and still be partners," she muses aloud. It also amazes Ashe that she and Balthier often argue similarly – how come she herself hasn't murdered the pirate yet for his quick tongue?

Balthier shrugs. "Keeps the mind sharp to bicker with Fran," he explains, tapping a finger to his head. "She's a right champion at belittling my inadequacies and pointing out my shortcomings…of which I'm firmly convinced there are none."

"Of course not," she replies agreeably, but they then fall into silence once Fran is out of sight. The feelings Ashe has been able to tuck away for the past day and a half are rearing up once again, and she wonders if Fran has wandered away on purpose. It would be just like Fran to let things play out as they will.

Balthier reopens his pack to inspect the metallic loot he's swiped while she eats the remainder of her meal quietly. How long will Fran stay away? Now isn't really the best time for a discussion of feelings and emotions, especially with Balthier's prickly behavior the past few minutes. But Ashe cannot shove her feelings aside. His intentions towards her are still so unclear, and she'd rather know than have this looming over her. She has quite enough to worry about already, and the strange situation with Balthier will only compound her anxiety. Whatever his answer, she will at least have one less issue to dwell upon.

She watches his eyes dart across the plated metal, his fingers running across the surface to seek out imperfections. "Balthier?" she inquires slowly, and she begs for Fran to return and interrupt this embarrassing display.

"Mmm?"

"On the Strahl…the day Basch boarded," she begins, trying to get him to meet her eyes. He cannot lie to her if he is looking her in the face, can he?

Balthier holds up a hand to silence her. "We've discussed this, Princess. I said what I had to say to convince him you were not on board. I do not actually believe that you should be executed for war crimes…"

"I know that."

"Then what are you trying to insinuate?" he finishes, finally looking up and giving her a strange look. His eyebrows arch, and he crosses his arms as he often does when displeased with the course of a conversation.

But she must press on now that she has started, and Fran has stayed away. The curiosity and worry has been bubbling inside for days now, and her heart is racing. How will she ask him? She cannot simply ask him straight out what his intentions are – she does not have the courage for that. Best let Balthier's own previous actions inform his answers. "Basch said something in the past. About…affection for me in the past?"

Balthier is quick to block her. "He may have. We are all your friends, Ashe."

He has always been effective at evading and dodging, both in the field of battle and in the field of conversation. She must push him. "I'm not sure that's what he meant."

The sky pirate waves his hand dismissively. "The man was trying to catch me in a lie."

"Balthier, why did you kiss me?"

There, she's done it. And surprisingly enough, she's stunned him. What had he expected her to ask him? He'd kissed her so passionately – why should she not question his intentions? His eyes are focused again on the damned monster scales.

"I see," she mutters. He looks overwhelmingly guilty – perhaps guilty for leading her on. Why does this distress her so? "It was naught but a distraction then. Your silence is all the confirmation I need…"

"Ashe," he interrupts, but before he can finish whatever he means to say, Fran's loud scream reaches them and they are both on their feet and running in seconds. Balthier calls out to his partner, and as they race through the snowy dirt, Ashe notices how much thicker the Mist has grown since they sat down to rest. Whatever has happened, it was her fault for bringing Fran here.

They find the Viera lying almost motionless on the ground, her bow clutched protectively in her arms. Balthier is by her side immediately, whispering something she cannot hear. It was wrong to make Fran endure this for her sake. The guilt begins to overwhelm her, and she can only collapse in a heap a few feet away from the sky pirate and his ill partner.

"It grows too strong," she hears Fran tell him. "Too violent."

"We have to get you out of here," Balthier replies, trying to help his partner to sit up. She should have come alone. Fran's breaths are shallow, and her usually calm expression is replaced with a deep frown as if she is in horrible pain.

"No, I promised…" the Viera mumbles as Balthier keeps his arm securely around her shoulders.

"Don't say that, Fran." The last thing Ashe wants is for Balthier or Fran to feel like they must jump in front of bullets for her. She asked for their help and did not demand it. They are not her soldiers to be ordered about. "We must turn back."

"We'll find another way," Balthier agrees. Ashe cannot think of any other way to get to Giruvegan. What other method is there? Her worry grows, but she will not show it when Fran is clearly so ill. "Here, let's get you up…"

"I will not be carried," Fran says stubbornly, pushing her partner's hands away to rise to her feet by her own power. "I may not be able to endure this, but the Mist affects you very little. You must continue without me."

"And leave you here? You're mad," Balthier chastises her, hovering near Fran like a mother cockatrice with her chick. Ashe does not need to spend the remainder of the journey alone with Balthier now that she knows his true feelings…or lack of feelings, rather. She must send him back with her.

"I will return to the Strahl," Fran mutters, walking shakily back to return to where they had taken their meal.

Ashe's nerves are growing increasingly unsteady. She can sense tension in Balthier as well, and she can tell that it is not just worry for Fran that is making him clench his fists and walk so stiffly. She moves ahead to stand in front of the Viera and block her way. "That is not safe, Fran. Let me continue, and Balthier will get you back…"

But it appears that Fran's resolve will not falter. "Majesty, you made a foolish journey alone from Archades. I will not see you abandon all that you have worked for. Let me take my own journey alone. You must confront them."

"Fran," Balthier interrupts, but Ashe knows they have both lost.

"Stay with her," Fran says to her partner, walking past them and back to her pack. "Protect her. I am sorry."

Ashe is silent then, as is Balthier. Fran gives them each a serious look – a look that implies that she would be angered if they do not continue onward. Ashe can only nod as the Viera shoulders her belongings and begins walking away from the heavier bits of Mist that had so affected her. And then they are alone.

Balthier speaks first, gathering his things together. "You heard the woman. Let's move." It is the last thing he says for the next several hours as she follows him back through the Mist and into the snow fields.

-----

A day passes, the only words between them concern Fran's fall to the Mist and the sharing of meals. The rest of the time, Ashe languishes in the space of her own mind, wondering why she can't simply revert to the thought of Balthier as her trusted ally and friend. All bets were off once he crossed the line and kissed her. And his silence and lack of apology have infuriated her. She should be concentrating on Giruvegan. They may spend days looking for some way to destroy the Occuria's power or perhaps she will need his support to confront them verbally. So much is uncertain and she now travels at the side of a man she thought she understood.

Balthier shoots at creatures, eats, sleeps, and keeps moving forward. He seldom glances back as he walks the open expanse of snow, the fields dotted sporadically with the ruins of a civilization long abandoned. The Mist and its false reflections grow stronger as they continue forward, and it seems to creep into her bones and slowly gnaws at her mind. How much would this affect Fran? The Viera is one of the strongest people she's ever met and seeing her crouched on the ground shook Ashe deeply. Feeling the Mist invade her own senses now gives her some small insight into Fran's own struggles with it.

Does he hate her now? Seeing his concern for Fran has affected Ashe more than she realized. Balthier is rarely, if ever, without Fran by his side. They complement one another and watch the other's back. Ashe has never been so close to anyone. Her time with Rasler had been so very short, and Balthier and Fran's partnership is the strongest bond she's ever known. He is almost lesser without her – his steps not as light and full of confidence, his face more readily showing agitation. She has done this to him.

They pass through the gate to the city later that afternoon and still the Mist grows stronger. Giruvegan looms just ahead. They need only touch the ancient transporting device. Ashe knows that the darkened passages and impossibly wet paths within await. The great crystal in the center will be just as confusing to navigate as it was on their first arrival. And so she hesitates.

"Could we rest before we enter?" she asks timidly, loathing herself for sounding so frightened. Balthier pauses just before the device, his hand all set to let the ancient magicks send him within the city confines. Instead he nods quietly and sets down his burdens. Ashe sets down her own things and wanders to the edge of the platform. The city lies across the placid waters, and she leans against the old stone wall at her side, watching for some sign.

Do the Occuria know she is here? They've been so close to her all this time. Perhaps they influenced the Mist to lower their morale as well as their numbers. What effect is their meddling having on Emperor Hammad? Has Rozarria made their way to Dalmascan soil? Ashe prays that Larsa has been doubling and tripling his efforts to prevent a war in her absence, regretting that the young man has so much of her responsibility to bear as well as his own. Anyone but Larsa would let Rabanastre fall to another foreign conqueror.

Balthier is beside her then, and she sneaks a glance over to see him staring across the waters to the city as well. His eyes are pained, so much more emotion in them than she is used to seeing. How insensitive she's been to him all of this time. She's been so preoccupied with her anger. Not only has the man had to contend with the sudden departure of his partner, but he's returned to the place that drove his father mad to help her. What does a simple kiss matter when he has all of that upon his shoulders? Why does she have such trouble realizing that others have feelings and troubles no less than her own?

She turns and leans her back to the cool stone, letting her palms brush against its roughened texture. "Do you resent me?"

"Resent you?" he stutters out seconds later, turning to her with a startled expression. "Why?" Is he lying again? Trying to set her off-balance?

"Because our numbers are fewer now. Because of Fran…"

He shakes his head and smirks that same smirk she's grown to loathe the sight of. "Fran's little Mist allergy is not your fault, Princess."

He mocks her now. "How can you joke about that?" she replies bitterly, preferring their long hours of silence to this. "She is your partner."

Balthier pivots on his heel, looking away from Giruvegan and instead to her. The flash of anger in his eyes reminds her of his confrontation with Basch days earlier. Will he goad her until she strikes him as well? He takes a step forward, and she realizes that the wall she leans against is now keeping her trapped between Balthier and any possible escape. She's started this conflict, there is no denying it. Perhaps it would have been better if they'd simply gone into the city. Now they must wait until the following day, and this argument will undoubtedly affect their ability to concentrate within the city.

"Do not preach to me about how I should feel and react," he warns her, wagging an arrogant finger in her face. His voice is cold, as cold as it had been when he'd confronted her about Giruvegan earlier. She'd had an Occuria-induced headache shortly thereafter, and she knows that that is probably the only way to avoid his anger now.

She rises to her full height but will not move from the wall. She will instead use it to lean against, to support herself against him. "Then do not belittle the suffering of others." It is a weak counter, for she knows that what Balthier says isn't always what Balthier feels.

He is within arm's reach now. She could slap him away if he continues to challenge her. "I will not stand here and be ordered around by one whose mind is not entirely her own." She can tell by the way he recoils at his own words that he regrets them, but it's all he had to say to dissolve their friendship entirely now.

"All this time," she mumbles, feeling her resolve begin to crumble like the ruins they'd passed in the snow fields that day. "All this time you truly have thought me mad." The wall cannot support her now. "Are you waiting for me to have another little episode? A mental break? Will you play the great hero and knock me to the ground before I unleash more horrors upon the world?" Stepping away from the wall, it is Balthier who backpedals slightly as she pushes away from the stone to stare up at him. "Is this entire affliction of mine a game to you? Just another chance for the leading man to be the center of the universe while everything else collapses around him?"

"With _me_ at the center?" he spits in disbelief, and she wonders if he will simply toss her in the water until she calms down. "My good lady, are you not the center of your own little world in this tale? The victim we ought pity?"

It wounds her deeply to hear him say these things. Perhaps she should send him away, back to Fran and the Strahl and out of her life for good. She's brought him nothing but trouble. He does not need to be shackled to her when all he has ever craved is his freedom. Perhaps telling him to leave will be the only way she can show him what she can no longer ignore or keep hidden away – the fact that she truly does love him. She cannot understand it – not fully, not yet – but denying it will only cloud her thoughts. It matters little – he thinks her mad and a burden.

"Balthier," she says quietly. She lost Rasler too soon. Now she must give up whatever this is with Balthier before it comes to anything. "Why are you always so cruel?"

He's staring at her now, watching and waiting. Will he go if she tells him to? It would betray Fran's wishes, but he could return to his life of treasure hunting. War between Rozarria and Dalmasca would affect him very little when there are profits to be made elsewhere. She does not wish to be alone, but he has made it clear that he thinks she is on a fool's errand.

"You flirt and then you bite," she tells him, searching his eyes for some recognition of what she is saying. He has always been so many things in one man, and she has fallen. She's fallen so hard she can feel the ache in her bones. "You smile at me and then you lie. You kiss me and then you…"

Her back is against the wall again, and his hands are like fire upon her body. His lips seek hers, yearning for a taste of her. Her breath is stolen, and she will never understand him. Balthier is one giant riddle, but he's nearly biting her in his intense need to kiss her. Is this more of his cruelty? This differs from the way he'd kissed her in Ridorana. There the kiss had been the first delivered in the manner of a last, as if he were searching for something in her. Whatever passion he'd put into the one at Ridorana is tepid in comparison to the way he's loving her now, if that is what she dares to call this.

She cannot break away to ask his intentions, though she will, by the gods. His hands are at the bottom of her blouse, and he lifts it to touch the bare skin of her stomach, of her back. She cannot stifle the moan that erupts from her at the feeling. Ashe can only put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her as she stands on the tips of her toes. She lets her fingers stroke the short hair at the back of his head as she feels his hands beneath her shirt committing every inch of her skin to tactile memory.

Seconds earlier she thought they would be parting forever, and now he is pressed against her, his tall, lean body firmly holding her against the ancient stone. He must come up for air, and her name is on his lips as he breaks the kiss, waiting only a few seconds before plunging back down to claim her mouth again. Her whole body is aflame, never knowing such intensity of feeling before. Her mind is numbed, knowing only the richness of his kiss and the roughness of his hands under her blouse. Mist languishes all around her, invading her senses and clouding her judgment.

Confirmation at least that he lusts for her is evident, and one hand moves from her shirt to her hip, gripping and squeezing like it should belong to him. They are out in the open, though no other man would set foot in this place. She can smell the calm waters paces away and the familiarity of his own scent mingling with it. If he would be greedy then she will take what she wishes as well. Moving down his arms, she can feel the muscles beneath his shirt. Taking the material in her hands, she pulls it out from where it is tucked in his trousers so precisely as always, her fingers meeting taut flesh beneath.

He nearly growls at her touch, pressing himself against her. Finally his mouth seeks places other than her own, trailing eager kisses along her jaw to her ear, behind it, and then he nuzzles her neck. She can feel moisture against her pulse, his tongue darting out quickly to taste her skin. The hand upon her hip bunches in the fabric of that Archadian-style skirt, tugging upward until she feels his hand upon her bare thigh, and she cries out at the contact.

"Not here," she exclaims. In broad daylight, no matter how deserted this place is, it is not the right time for such things. She doesn't even have outright proof that he does this for reasons beyond pure lust for something he is forbidden to take. He doesn't stop and so she must pull her hands from under his shirt, already missing the feeling of skin she's never even seen beneath her fingertips. She sets her palms upon his chest and gives him a push. "Gods, Balthier, not here."

He staggers back away from her as if he is intoxicated from the taste and touch of her. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice low and nearly unrecognizable. Ashe can barely breathe, wondering how such ardor is possible between two people. Though he now stands a few paces away, her arms want to reach and pull him back to her, as if there is some invisible tether keeping them attached.

Balthier clears his throat then, running a nervous hand through his hair and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. There is the slightest bit of amusement in his voice. "Well, I'm afraid that certainly complicates things."


	11. Chapter 11

This complicates things?

"You think so?" she replies, nearly stupefied by his behavior. He was cold and angry one moment and attempting to claim her for his own the next. What in Ivalice is happening to them?

He grins and moves away from her to sit down beside their packs. "We should fight like that more often."

"So that you can assault me?"

Balthier shrugs. "Princess, you assaulted back with equal fervor," he replies pointedly. How could he be so passionate one moment and downright silly the next? She sits across from him and unpacks her bedroll, doing her best to avoid his eyes. Ashe can still feel where his lips pressed against her neck, the skin of her thigh almost burning where he'd grabbed hold of her. Her heart is still beating so erratically – anyone within miles should be able to hear it.

"Are we going to discuss what that meant, Balthier?" she inquires, checking the remainder of their food stores.

He sighs. "We have more pressing business in the morning, don't you agree?"

Ashe looks up. This time he will not dodge her. He has nowhere to go but in the river or back into the snow fields by himself. "I disagree." He quirks an eyebrow but allows her to continue. "You've kissed me twice now, and I will not dispute my own complicity in those events." 

Balthier's amused expression shows that she isn't the best at phrasing these sorts of things, but it's not like she is used to such amorous attentions – especially from trusted friends. He begins to set out his own bedroll and blankets as if their conversation isn't terribly serious. Ashe decides to press on. At the very least, he's busy with his preparations and will not be pouncing on her any time soon to kiss away her nagging and worry.

"I wish to know your intentions, if only to know where we stand. I will not continue onward in your company if you play games with my affections," she explains. Of course, what she wants is confirmation that there is more to it than a game. That she is more to him than a friend or some treasure he wishes to claim and brag about at the pirate taverns. She wants his heart and mind to match the actions of his hands and his lips, but for a man like Balthier, it may be too much to hope for. 

Not to mention her own expectations as Queen of Dalmasca. Though her kingdom is in disarray and her own ability to govern it in question, she could not truly pursue anything with him. Courtship with a wandering pirate is a thing of tales and legends, not of reality. Ashe has never been a romantic or a dreamer. She must protect herself before this gets any worse. Her feelings can be suppressed once she is away from him again.

But oh how she wants him to love her. She kissed him back. No one but Rasler had been so close to her before, but then again, Rasler had never kissed her so ardently – they had only been on the cusp of adulthood. Ashe's passion for Balthier is different, she realizes. It is the passion of a woman grown – a woman who has her duty and her place and should know better.

Still Balthier says nothing, examining the hand drawn map he and Basch had thrown together the first time they'd been to Giruvegan. "I've no power over you, Balthier, and so I will not order you to tell me. But I ask as someone who regards you as a dear friend, please. What do you feel for me?"

His face is far more solemn now, his eyes squinting at the crudely drawn map. "You do have power over me."

His voice is barely louder than a whisper. "Pardon?"

Balthier removes a pen from his bag and scratches it across the map, her mind returning to that night in her bedchamber when they went over the laws of Dalmasca. How long ago that seems, she muses. But they have both come a long way since that comfortable night – when she'd been content to have him as a friend and confidante. 

"You say that you have no power over me, Ashe. And since I am no citizen of Dalmasca, that is true in the political sense. But I cannot deny that you have a hold on me very few…" He presses the pen hard enough against the map to puncture a hole in it, and she feels her heart flutter. "…or should I say that no other woman has had on me."

This is the most bizarre confession of affection she could have imagined, but the way he seems to struggle with his phrasing indicates sincerity. Balthier is a well-spoken man. For him to even pause his flow of words says more than a thousand sentences could tell her.

He sets the map down and looks at her, the intensity in his eyes matching the fervor he'd shown in pressing his body against her own. "I'm not entirely sure what I feel because I've never felt this way. It's as if you've burrowed your way into my mind and you'll be damned before you loose your hold."

"How flattering," she spits. Has Balthier never loved a woman before? He's probably told dozens of ladies that he loves them and never meant it – clearly feeling it for real is difficult for a leading man to swallow.

Balthier picks up the map and shoves it back into his bag. He looks to the heavens and sighs. "I've no time to ponder what it all means. What I do know is that I'd like to kiss you again. Perhaps that would give me some degree of clarity?"

She smirks at him. "That is a rather dangerous idea. One I'll not allow until you can verbally address my question to my satisfaction."

"What the hell do you want me to say? That I'm as mad for you as Basch is for rules and protocol? That I'm here in Giruvegan because I'll be damned before I see you face them alone?" He shakes his head. "Do you have any idea how many times I've had to hold back from kissing the living daylights out of you?"

She smiles at that. He seems ready to pull his hair out. Exhaustion from travel has loosened his tongue, and her own nagging has helped it along. "So Basch wasn't wrong then? You do have affection for me." 

"And have…for some time, I'm distressed to admit," he explains. "Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to desire the love of a Queen?"

He doesn't merely feel affection for her – he _desires_ her love in return. Ashe wants to hide her face. Surely her blush is spreading to every corner of skin visible to him. How in the world will they be able to travel together? "Infuriating? I think I understand, in my own way," she admits. The turmoil of feeling she's had for the past week has certainly not had a calming effect on her psyche.

"I've had enough of this little chat, Princess. I'm not here to bare my soul to you, I'm here for the immortal meet and greet," he reminds her. She supposes that now wasn't exactly the most appropriate time for a discussion of feelings, but it wasn't the time for making love either. Of course, Balthier didn't seem to mind that. A man of Balthier's type has strange priorities and sensibilities.

"Very well," she replies, leaning over and snatching his bag. "Let's have a look at that map."

-----

Morning comes, and she rises before Balthier. Despite the change in their relationship, if she can call it that, they'd been remarkably civil for the remainder of the previous night. Conversation had kept to Giruvegan, their planned route to the crystal within and then a rather amusing discussion of Vaan and Penelo's sky pirating exploits to keep the mood light. They'd shared their rations and chatted as though nothing had changed, but she'd felt his eyes upon her whenever she looked away. And though it would normally unsettle her, it is welcome to her now. She will take comfort in his affections while their paths still intertwine.

She looks across to see him sleeping. All of the effort he puts into his demeanor during the day seems to disappear when he is at rest. There is no pretense, no mask upon his face. She watches him and is fascinated by how far they've come together since that night in the Garamsythe Waterway when he saw her as nothing but a guest to his thievery. What would it be like to wake every morning to see him an arm's length away? He lets out a rather noisy snore, and she has to hold in a laugh. Shaking her head, she does her best to go about her morning routines without disturbing him. 

The waters are calm as ever, no evidence of distress in the city beyond. Behind their little camp, the gates connecting them with the Feywood remain firmly closed. The device that will carry them across the river hums quietly as she approaches. She does not understand the ancient magicks that make it work, but even Ashe remembers how much more they usually glow. Touching her fingers to it tentatively, not enough to activate it, the glow only fades more. 

"Leaving without me?" she hears behind her. Balthier's perched his head on his hand and watches her from where he lays on the ground. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ashe responds, walking away from the device and back to him. "You're the expert when it comes to machines and contraptions. Why isn't it glowing?"

Balthier sits up and stretches, and she winces to hear his joints pop. She wants to make a crack about aging, but then they would sound like an old married couple for sure – that is probably the last thing Balthier wants to imagine for them. "Let's have a look," he remarks, kicking off his blanket and wandering over.

They circle the device, and Balthier even knocks it with his fist a few times. The crystal flickers but does not send them across the river. "Can we even get in to Giruvegan?" she asks tentatively, wondering if this long journey has been all for naught.

"If we have to swim, we're going," Balthier answers her. "It is strange though. It's almost…hmm."

"Hmm?"

The sky pirate crosses his arms, his mind clearly racing to find an adequate way to explain himself. "It's as if someone's turned off the power…or turned it down low. Like it's on emergency reserves, if there's such a thing when you're an immortal grouping of rocks."

"Will it work at all?"

He departs and moves back to prepare some breakfast for himself. "We may be standing there a while for it to activate, but I wager it will work. Let's just hope we can get back out."

This is an unsettling thought, and she buries her doubt and focuses on a small breakfast instead. They eat and pack up their supplies. The night before, they agreed to travel light, only weapons and essential items. Whatever fiends reside within the city will be avoided in favor of finding the quickest way to the platform above the city. They will save their strength for the crystal within, and Ashe is grateful that Balthier has the handmade map from years before.

When they are ready, they walk together and face each other across the crystal device. "Kiss for luck?" he asks.

"Save it."

He smiles broadly. "I'm rather stealthy, Princess. Don't think I won't try."

"I've no doubt," she replies. "Let's go." They press their hands together against the device, their fingers brushing slightly. He winks at her as their hands touch, and she wants to slap him. His levity is infuriating no matter how she feels about him otherwise. She feels the magicks seep into her fingertips. Where being zipped about normally feels like having a bucket of cold water thrown over her head, this is slower, an almost sensual feeling coursing through her. The device whirs to life finally, and she closes her eyes to brace for the transport.

As soon as she feels the magicks reach from her head to her toes it is gone, and her feet are pressed against dark stone. Balthier has arrived with her and gives her hand a poke. "Good thing we aren't fused into a wall right now. Who knows what happens when these damn things aren't working."

She nods in agreement, and they both step away to look around them. The water steps are seemingly devoid of life. No sound of screeching fiends reaches her ears, nor can she see any from her vantage point. It is rather disturbing – they'd expected to hit the ground running upon their arrival. Balthier's intake of breath alerts her then, and she turns around to follow his gaze to the giant crystal in the center.

"It's…that can't be right," she mutters. The crystal, normally glowing with Mist, is almost entirely devoid of light. Even from their vantage point at the city entrance, the crystal looks more like a dull gray rock. "It looks almost…"

"Like it's dying," he finishes for her.

She can only stand at the edge of the step, looking down at the crystal in her surprise. No wonder the device outside was so dulled – whatever power controls it is equally weakened. What could this mean? "Balthier…do you have a theory?" 

His face is curious, almost fascinated by the sights before them. "Several actually."

She turns to look at him. "The Occuria controlled me, now they possess Hammad, yet their city is almost like a tomb."

Balthier nods. "Makes you wonder if destroying the Cryst actually did more than we thought."

Ashe is puzzled over this. Reddas sacrificed himself to destroy the glowing crystal in Ridorana – could that affect the Occuria's grip on Ivalice through Giruvegan though? "The crystal here is little more than a giant rock now. Why would they expend so much energy to interfere with me?"

He turns away from the sight of the crystal and begins navigating the twisted paths of the strange city. "Well, let's imagine we're the Occuria for a moment, Princess," he muses, speaking to himself almost as much as her. She follows him, her steps heavy in her confusion. "Sun-Cryst is destroyed. Major power source keeping their hold on Ivalice. Obviously, if I'm an Occuria, I would want to protect what remains to me." He waves his hands around. "This. If this was all I had left, this place, I'd be saving up my power."

"But we're seeing the opposite," she tells him. "This place is dying. They invaded my mind – they wished for me to destroy Ivalice, as they would surely have Hammad do now. Why?"

He smiles. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. They truly are dying – well, not in the normal sense, but their grip on Ivalice is seeping away and that crystal is proof. No crystals, no Occuria to meddle in our affairs. And if they cannot hold Ivalice?"

She stops. "Then they would see it all destroyed."

"If they must effectively die, then so must we all. At least in their estimations," he agrees. It is a chilling thought. They wished for her to be a new Dynast-King, to carry out their vengeance two years before. And now their vengeance would be far greater – and all Ivalice would be forfeit. They will not allow history to be written by Hume hands – they would see no history at all instead. 

She hurries to catch up with him. "I don't suppose there is a way to convince them to just fade away and leave us to our own devices?"

Balthier grins, his footsteps full of energy and excitement. "No wonder Venat was so eager to get out of here. Greedy bastards, they are." The thought of the heretic Occuria sends a shiver down her spine. Venat would have seen an Ivalice controlled by men – but would a world ruled by Vayne Solidor have been any greater than Hammad and Rozarria destroying all in their path? Both options would only bring suffering.

They continue walking for some time, the journey taxing them only in time since there are no creatures to kill. Have they too faded with the crystal's Mist? The hours pass in quiet, Ashe's thoughts consumed by the thought of the Occuria's true motives. Gerun's voice was so powerful in her head, calling her slave. But who is master and who is slave now? The Occuria are slaves to the inevitable fading of their power. Would she then be able to proclaim herself master?

The crystal is before them now. She and Balthier need only walk across the floating green platforms to the transport. "You think all of the creatures are hiding in the crystal?" she asks, the slightest tremor in her voice.

"I sincerely hope not," he replies honestly.

"Shall we?"

Balthier nods, and she sets out, trying to keep her breathing even though her body is screaming for her to flee. It is so strange to be in this place once more. The crystal is nearly lifeless, and she wonders at the state of the powerful orb within it – it must be the last bit of energy remaining to keep the Occuria in Ivalice. Perhaps they ought target it.

His voice behind her startles her as she sees the transport device ahead of them vanish and the green platform holding it flicker and fade. "The path is disappearing!" he cries and grasps at her arm. "Quickly, we must go back!"

Her feet are carrying her as fast as she can go, and she keeps her eyes on Balthier's back as they race to the more solid stone. Ashe can feel the walkway tremble beneath her feet as she runs. The fading power within Giruvegan is no longer enough to even keep the platforms functioning. They are almost there, her heart pounding in her chest as she feels the path behind her falling away and some force almost pulling her back with it. Is it the crystal?

They are almost to the stone again, but she knows they'll miss it. Balthier's legs are longer and he runs faster – she is still so out of shape from a lazier palace life. She shouldn't look down, and she is rewarded with nothing but darkness as she does so. Her foot seems to sink through the vanishing platform she's on now, and somehow, she feels a strange calm. He could make it.

Ashe channels whatever strength remaining to her to stretch out her arms and shove Balthier forward. He has no time to turn around as he topples onto the stone pathway to safety, and she falls. She can only close her eyes as she hears him cry out for her. She prays that it will be quick.

But where she expects to feel nothing, the same strange feeling she felt when they transported into the city seems to seep into her skin, almost feeling like her descent is slowing. Opening her eyes, she sees only darkness until she knows nothing but cold. She's in water, heavy and choking in her woolen skirt, but she manages to kick to the surface, coughing. It is not as dark here in this water, and she spies a sandy area close by. Where is she? Under the city?

She hears a loud splash moments later. Nothing for a few seconds, and then another splash and noisy coughing. "Ashe!" Balthier's sputtering voice cries out. "Ashe, are you here?" He jumped after her, not even knowing what lay below? He is the most reckless person she's ever met.

Ashe swims over to the shore. "Here, I'm here!" Pulling herself from the water, she can only lay down on her stomach and gasp for air. She can hear him swim over, and somehow, all she can do is start laughing.

He emerges from the water and collapses beside her in exhaustion. It seems as though he hit the water harder than she had – the Mist had done little to cushion the fall. Trying to conceal her fit of giggles, she crawls over to him. Thoughts of the dying crystal above and the threat of Rozarria all fade away as she watches him spit up water and cough.

She feels like a drowned rat, and her clothes hang heavy about her, but all she knows is Balthier in front of her. "You idiot!" she cries, coughing heavily. "You stupid, stupid pirate!"

He rolls onto his back and groans. "That really hurt."

Ashe leans over him and kisses him gently, barely able to keep from laughing in her hysteria. She leans back and brushes her fingers over his face. "What if we landed on rocks? You'd be dead!"

Balthier moans in pain again. "Feels like I hit rocks."

"You are the most foolish person I've ever met. I try to save you, and then you jump anyway?"

He coughs and moves to sit up. She sits beside him, leaning her soaking wet head against his equally soaked shoulder. Balthier moves his arm around her, and he leans his head atop hers. "The leading man does not need to be saved, much less by a woman."

"You're lucky Fran's not here. She's saved you more than I bet you can remember."

"Oh, definitely," he replies, kissing the top of her head. "But I sincerely hope you have no lingering doubts about my feelings towards you."

He leapt into a dark void after her, the most probable outcome being death. 

"No doubts whatsoever," she responds, squeezing his hand. They sit together for a few more minutes in the sand, her skin growing chilled. "Well, how do you propose we get out?"

Balthier sighs and rises shakily to his feet. She joins him, and they examine their new surroundings. The water goes on until she sees nothing but darkness, and the sand stretches behind them until it reaches the black metallic wall of the city above. She doesn't even know how Giruvegan functioned as a living space however many years before.

She sees his eyes narrow, and he wanders over to the wall. "It's much easier to find exits with Fran around," he admits. 

Her skin is cold, and she is grateful that he hasn't joked about the best way to conserve body heat, at least not yet. They keep to the wall and follow it as it curves around. The crystal overhead hovers in the air, and she tries not to think about the fact that they've lost their weapons and other supplies in the fall. Squinting into the distance, she spies a faint glow. "There, is that a transport?"

They hurry ahead despite their exhaustion from falling into the water, and Balthier looks almost ready to kiss the device. "Oh yes, yes it is," he remarks. "No idea where we'll end up, but it won't be here."

"But it's not glowing," she notes sadly, and he frowns. While the devices outside were at least flickering, it appears that this one is completely dead. Balthier smacks the device in his frustration, clearly hurting his hand, but he turns away instead of being emotional in front of her. 

Ashe looks closely at the small crystal in the center of the device and is startled. Pressing her fingers over it, it feels like something has been carved into it. "Balthier, can you see this?"

He turns back around and crosses his arms. "Let's just find an exit."

"No, not until we know what it says. Someone left a message."

Balthier sighs and leans forward to squint at the dead crystal. "Core. I think it says core."

"And what could that mean? You don't think…this device leads directly to the core of the crystal above?" If only they could get the device to work, they could destroy it once and for all. "We could end this, Balthier."

He rubs his thumb across the carved letters and smirks. "But this thing's dead. And now that our little route upstairs is gone, there's no way inside."

She bites her lip and thinks. "Could we…couldn't we just replace the crystal?"

"Replace?"

He's the one who is so clever with machines. But it seems so simple. "Replace it, then destroy the one above us."

Balthier seems to be considering her idea, and he walks off to think. She continues to stare at the device, wondering if the force of her own will could convince it to activate once more. Destroying the core inside will be dangerous – the destruction of the Sun-Cryst had cost Reddas his life. How would they even accomplish such a thing? They have no Occurian blades now – what else could cancel out such power?

"My gods," he mutters, crouching down in the sand to examine something.

She wanders over, consumed by what they must do. She knows now – they need to go to Draklor. They need manufacted nethicite, and a lot of it. Ashe is about to tell him as much when she looks to see what has so captured his attention.

"I know who left us that little message," Balthier mumbles. Who else could have been down here? One of the residents of Giruvegan centuries ago? The Occuria themselves wouldn't have left such a vital clue scratched into a crystal.

But her questions are answered. Some long abandoned camping supplies and maps are scattered over the sands, and Balthier is holding a miniature portrait in his shaking fingers.

"Ashe, this is a picture of me." She kneels in the sand beside him as he looks at her, his eyes pained. "Cid was…my father was here."


	12. Chapter 12

She takes the picture from his hands and examines it. It's a hand-drawn miniature, not much more than a rough sketch, but the hair and the demeanor clearly identify the picture's subject. "Remarkable," she mutters.

Balthier continues to pick through the supplies. She watches him toss books this way and that, their pages now sprinkled with a fresh layer of sand. "Cid came all the way into the city," he remarks in awe. "Perhaps this is where he and Venat…"

His voice trails off, and she cannot believe it. Balthier's father was in this very spot nearly a decade ago, and he must have been the one to carve that message into the crystal. How long had he been trapped down here? She wants to ask Balthier how long his father had been gone that year. Cid may have inadvertently given them the clue they've needed all this time, the way to unseat the Occuria from their throne above the men of Ivalice.

"If he made it home to Archades after his journey to Giruvegan, then surely there is an exit down here…" Ashe looks around, seeing the dark metallic wall drift off into shadow as it curves its way around. "Somewhere."

He's still going through Cid's abandoned belongings, and she allows him time to do so. She's never pried much into Balthier's past. It had clearly hurt him enough to kill his own father, although the man was not the same one Balthier had obviously adored as a child. The man who would take a miniature of his son along to the unknown mists of the Feywood.

Balthier sighs and abandons his search. "There's really no avoiding him, is there?"

She picks up one of the discarded books and begins thumbing through it, the pages worn from years of neglect in the damp humidity beneath the city. "Perhaps in death he may help us."

He stretches out in the sand, still trying to recover from his messy landing in the water earlier. "Core, huh? You think that's his big message? What the devil could we really do? Can't exactly transport in and lay charges."

Ashe lets her eyes run over some lines of poetry, trying to imagine what Balthier's father could have been like. She'd only known him as a power-mad tyrant. Remembering what she'd meant to tell him before they'd found Cid's belongings, she knows he will not like it. "We must go to Draklor."

"Absolutely…"

"…not, I know," she finishes when he frowns at her. "But they've surely got stores of manufacted nethicite there. It might cancel out the remaining power of the crystal here."

"Cancel out?" Balthier interrupts. "Are we speaking of the same crystal? You remember the little bits Larsa had…not much larger than a chocobo dropping." She sighs at his crude analogy, and he chuckles. "You'd need a piece the size of the Strahl to cancel out that bloody thing."

Ashe smiles. "Well, perhaps it could use a boost. Take the manufacted stuff, add a bit of firepower and blow the whole city."

He cocks his head and looks at her strangely. "My lady, are you suggesting we bomb this hallowed ground? With what? If you can think of a ship that will fit through that gate…"

"What if…" She feels as though she's grasping at straws now. "We placed the explosives and nethicite ourselves and then remotely detonated…"

"Ashe, wait," he interrupts, giving her shoulder a shake. "One step at a time." Balthier scratches his chin and thinks. "Can we go back to the part where we're breaking into Draklor? If you recall, you're a wanted fugitive."

She smiles and rises to her feet. "You're a wanted fugitive in many places, are you not?"

He scowls at her. "This is different. Your plan is a bit strange, but it might work." He stands as well and begins to pace, thinking things over. "I'm no weapons expert, but I'm not so bad with machines. A remote device would be a long shot, but I'm no slouch with giant hulking sky fortresses. A lousy crystal should be a walk in the park."

"Then let's find an exit. We'll find Fran and head for Archades."

"No, not a chance," he mutters, tugging on her arm before she can move away from him. "_I'll_ find Fran. She and I will head for Archades, and…"

If he thinks to take her back to Ridorana to wait things out, he is sorely mistaken. Wrenching her arm from his grasp, Ashe backs off and heads to follow the metal wall. "This is not a negotiation. I'm going with you."

She can hear his footsteps in the sand behind her. He will do everything in his power to keep her from going. But her mind will not waver. Strange that she worked so hard to make her way out of Archades so many days ago. But Draklor will have what they need, and she'll not sit back and let Balthier and Fran alone risk their lives on such a dangerous plan. Balthier does not verbally complain for the next several minutes as they make their way along the walls, but she can just sense his displeasure. She admits that he's worked hard to protect her all this time. But now they must stop running. They must act.

"We'll need a way into the lab," she continues after some time. "You're the clever one with plotting. Ideas?"

Balthier grumbles under his breath before responding audibly. "Let's get there first, shall we?"

Finally, Ashe can see a faint light in the distance, and they hurry along to discover a jagged break in the metal, large enough for a person to fit through. She can smell the fresher air outside, and can hear the flowing water of the river beyond. The water they'd landed in probably leads out to the river, but neither of them would be able to submerge long enough to make their way out. This is their only exit. Kneeling down for a closer look, she can see a small knife resting in the sand. "My gods," she says in realization. "He cut his way out."

Balthier runs his hand along the jagged cuts. No wonder Cid went mad – it must have taken him weeks to cut through. Perhaps Venat had been the only guidance he'd had in all of that time. She keeps these thoughts from Balthier, knowing that he is probably already consumed with the idea of it himself. She thinks she hears him offer a quiet bit of thanks to his father as he crawls out the opening and onto the riverbank where darkness has fallen.

--

She is utterly exhausted when they reach the Strahl two days later. Their swim back across the shore from the city had been the easy part. The mists in the Feywood were treacherous, and they'd gotten turned around a few times. Her earlier ease of conversation with Balthier had chilled along with the air as they drew closer to Paramina Rift once more. After so many days on foot, Balthier was incredibly irritable, and it didn't help that they'd be flying into the heart of the Empire shortly. He'd tried to coerce her out of coming along at every break in their arduous march, but Ashe would have none of it.

Fran awaits them at the top of the hatch. "One more day, and I would have thought you both lost to the Mist."

"Lovely to see you as well, Fran," Balthier snits at her, lugging his pack into the Strahl. Why he'd still insisted on hauling the metal and other loot about, Ashe would never understand. "How's my ship?"

"Nearly six days moored in frozen tundra. You tell me," his partner replies calmly as they both depart for his cabin. Ashe has a feeling they will be discussing her for some time, and she does not care to be present for that argument. Instead, she lets herself into Fran's cabin where her legislative scribblings have waited patiently for her return.

Several days' break from laws and tangible proof of her royal station floods back through her, and she frets over Dalmasca. Surely by now Rozarria has made some move against her capital. With their lack of success, or anything whatsoever, in Giruvegan, they've been unable to draw Occurian attention away from Hammad. She prays that the Rozarrians have held their leader back far better than her own council had behaved with her.

Ashe cannot dwell on it now. She must think of Draklor, of some means to get into the place. Her fingers drift over the pages and pages of notes, of laws to be changed and mandates to be written. The white snow visible outside fades as night comes. She barely notices Balthier enter until he's standing over her where she sits on the cabin floor, and his fingers tangle absentmindedly in her hair. It's almost a familiar feeling now, having his hands upon her.

"They don't know your hair is black," he mutters, winding a few strands into a loose little braid while she closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling. Has he finally agreed that leaving her behind is not an option? He runs his fingers over her scalp, scratching lightly when she purrs her approval.

"What does Fran think?"

At the sound of her voice, the spell is seemingly broken. He takes his hand away and moves back to the door. "Well, when she hasn't been de-icing the ship in our absence, she's actually been thinking in the same twisted vein as yourself."

She already misses the feeling and sighs. "She has thought of Draklor?"

Balthier shakes his head. "Not exactly. But she wants to expand our little crime syndicate."

Ashe quirks her head at that. "What do you mean?"

He leans in the doorway, and she doesn't know how she can stay on the floor and not leap towards him. They'd been bickering and arguing all the way back from Giruvegan, but now that they are here aboard the Strahl again, she wants nothing more than to feel his hands on her. It won't be easy now that they both know how the other feels. Hopefully, their excursion to Draklor will keep their urges in check.

Balthier grips the doorframe and smirks, seeming to stay away from her on purpose. It appears that he is having similar problems now that they are back on the slightly more comfortable and private airship, Fran's presence notwithstanding. "She wants to get Basch involved."

"Basch? But…"

He holds up his hand to silence her, and she feels her fingers shaking over the stacks of papers ripped from Balthier's books. Their last meeting with Basch had gone horribly, couldn't Balthier see that? He'd been nearly knocked unconscious. "We would need his help to get into Draklor with less fuss. Can get us false papers. Of course, it would be a cake walk were Fran and I to go alone…"

"…which isn't happening," she interrupts, and he smiles broadly.

"As I said to Fran. So we'll have to let the cat out of the bag about you. He won't be too friendly, I suspect. But I'll let him hit Fran this time. She can take a punch far better than I can."

Balthier is using humor as a distraction, and for once, she is glad of it. Getting into Archades will be nerve wracking. Ashe feels the ship begin to rumble to life, and Balthier's nod lets her know that they are already on the way to the capital. "So what is the plan?"

He is all business now, his eyes less lustful and in that crafty state that she's usually found rather repugnant. "Fran will drop us off in the Uplands. You and I go through Sochen and hole up in Old Archades until she can get a meeting with Basch in the capital. She'll be the more official face of the operation. Fran will get us the papers, we get in, get what we need, get out."

"And you think Basch will cooperate?"

"Well, Fran thinks the man won't be too thrilled with all our deception, but with Hammad's behavior now, he may be more malleable to our request. He'll want to help you, Ashe." Balthier grins then. "And it doesn't hurt that he's probably got access to all the bombs and detonators we'd need to blow Giruvegan into the next life."

She nods, hoping that that is the case. If she could see Basch herself and reason with him…but that would be nearly impossible. Balthier and Fran are fine criminals, but trying to sneak her into the palace would be suicidal. At least Draklor is a large facility and few would expect her to turn up there. "Very well. One step at a time."

He looks down at her, and she can feel the heat radiating from him. It has been two days since they've so much as kissed, and now that they have so many hours in the sky, there is little else to do. She feels her heart beating wildly as he crosses the cabin in two steps and kneels behind her. He brushes her hair away from her neck and begins to kiss there while his travel-roughened hands rub her arms. She wants to lean back and lose herself against him, but this isn't the place for it.

"Balthier, this is Fran's cabin," she whispers as he nuzzles the nape of her neck.

His breath is warm against her skin. "She's flying."

"She would be offended."

"She would be," he agrees, not even attempting to budge behind her.

Ashe sighs, realizing that she has been the one to break apart first in almost every instance. She stills his hand and pulls away, gathering up her materials. "Sleeping arrangements?" she inquires quietly.

He stands and helps her to pick up the papers. "Take my bed. I'll make do up front. Not really tired yet, anyhow."

She nods and moves to depart Fran's room until there is a sound of disapproval from behind her. Ashe turns around, the stack of papers and books in her hands nearly toppling. "What?"

Balthier is tapping one of the scrawled-upon pages against his palm. "Ashe, what the hell did you do to my books?"

--

"Do you think Fran will get a meeting with Basch right away? It would be unseemly for a Judge of Archadia to meet with a sky pirate," Ashe argues, wiping her shoe off against the wall. A particularly nasty creature's guts coat the underside of them, and she will be grateful to be out of the cave palace sooner rather than later.

Balthier watches her clean off her shoe with an amused grin. He always manages to emerge from battle with nary a scratch, but she supposes that if she had a gun and not a sword that she would be tidier. "Never underestimate Fran. That's pretty much my life motto," he tells her.

She smiles and continues through the damp cave, descending further and further away from the sunlight. "I thought your motto was that you can't die."

He shrugs and checks the shot in his gun as he trails behind her. "I can have more than one motto, Princess." His long strides enable him to catch up, and all too soon he's walking in step with her close enough for his sleeve to brush against her own. "If anyone can negotiate her way into the innermost chambers of the Judges' Magistracy, it's Fran. Have you seen the way she dresses?"

Ashe sighs. "I almost wish I could swap places with her." She hops quickly over the slimy bones of some long-gone creature. "I hate this place."

Balthier shakes his head. "You don't enjoy my company down here?" He perches the shotgun on his shoulder and puts his other arm around her waist. "This isn't romantic?"

It is growing harder and harder to avoid his attentions. Ashe has not experienced true affection since Rasler's passing, Al-Cid's flirtations aside. She feels almost human again to have another's arm around her, but at the same time, she wonders if she should keep pursuing this. Their situation is precarious, and there isn't time for proper courtship. Not that a relationship with Balthier could really be considered courtship. He is not the marrying kind, nor could she ever see him changing so drastically even for her.

Her mind is consumed with Dalmasca, the Occuria and now Balthier. It is almost enough to drive one insane, even without Gerun's help. If they do destroy the crystal in Giruvegan, she must deal with Hammad. And in the off chance war is avoided, she must then fight to regain the trust of her people. There is little time for a dalliance with a sky pirate, much as she already knows that what she feels is far deeper than anything she's felt before.

"…and I suppose that was when I realized how much I wanted to be a chocobo farmer."

"Hmm?" she asks in confusion, not realizing that Balthier had been trying to speak with her for some time now. His hand has worked its way down to clutch at her hip, and he's probably a bit upset that she hasn't been responding to his advances. She supposes that Balthier is the type to be quite hands-on – his mechanical and thieving skills seem to transfer into his seduction technique.

"You're somewhere else. Talk to me," he says quietly, moving his hand back to her waist in more of a comforting manner than she is used to from him.

She doesn't know what to say. "What is this, Balthier?" she inquires, putting her hand over his. "Why do you bother? I'm a mess. Can't properly govern my country, a fugitive, all of that."

"Why do I bother?" he asks in confusion. "Is this really the time? I thought I made it clear enough what I feel…"

Ashe pulls away and continues to slog through the nasty cave. She waves her arms around. "We've nothing ahead but walking for the next day. Would you rather discuss literature? Or fine wines? Or how we cannot really pursue this?"

He tugs her arm to stop her mid-tantrum and stares at her strangely. "What has gotten into you?"

She looks at her feet. "I don't know, Balthier. I have so much on my mind. Dalmasca, Hammad, Giruvegan…"

"And we'll handle each in turn, I promise you. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you will," she tells him, blurting out something that she knows is true. "If we're fortunate enough to overcome all these obstacles, then we both know what will happen."

"And that is what exactly?"

She feels tears brimming in her eyes, and she hates herself for it. She almost wishes she was made of stone. She'd be a far stronger Queen and would probably not have gotten into this situation in the first place. She would never have dared to fall for a blasted pirate. "You'll leave again. I have you now, on an extended contract like I did before. But when it's over, you'll be gone. You'll be bringing me snow at irregular intervals."

"Ashe, you've always known who I am and what I do. As I know who you are and what you must be." He lifts her chin and forces her to look at him. "But it doesn't change what we feel."

"It doesn't?" She sniffles a bit, feeling like a damned child. "What if I can't bear being without you?"

He chuckles. "You're going to loathe yourself for that remark when you look back on it. I don't ever want to hear you say something stupid like that again. You don't require my constant presence, and you know it."

She is being rather foolish. She was doing quite well as Queen with only scattered appearances from him. Ashe realizes that she'd hardly have time to carry on with him regularly anyhow. "I do enjoy it though."

Balthier smiles and uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "Well, who doesn't enjoy my company?" He embraces her then in the middle of the nasty cave, rubbing small circles on her back. "Stop being a silly girl. We have far more important things to worry about than whether or not I'll be attending all of your ridiculous political functions."

She inhales the strong, familiar scent of him, letting it soothe her despite her lingering anxiety. "But would you?"

"Would I what?"

It is hard to avoid a grin now. "Attend my ridiculous political functions?"

He groans. "Am I allowed to pickpocket the diplomatic envoys?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then we'll have some negotiating to look forward to in due time." He kisses the top of her head and breaks apart from her. She watches him walk ahead, his eyes squinting into the darkness for the next fiend to cross their path. "Come on, Princess. I'm beginning to think we're married with the way we're carrying on, and I simply won't have it."

Ashe feels her spirits renewed slightly, and she cannot stop smiling. No one dares to speak to her the way he does, and she wouldn't let anyone else get away with it. Whatever trials lay ahead, she is glad to have his strength to support her. The thought of Balthier at a formal Dalmascan function is enough to keep her moving through the caves and onward to Old Archades.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note**: This chapter contains adult situations and is NSFW. The first half of the chapter is smut-free.

--

"When do you expect to be back?" she inquires quietly, not allowing her voice to rise louder than a whisper.

He laces up the worn boots and frowns. "Perhaps after dark. I don't suppose I need to stress the importance of staying put, do I?"

Ashe nods and fidgets with the rough blanket beneath her legs, twisting her fingers in the coarse fabric. They've only just arrived in Old Archades and if Fran has managed to work her incomparable magic with her two-day head start, Balthier will be meeting her in just over an hour. And hopefully she'll have procured them work passes for Draklor from Basch. Cleaning staff, Balthier had mused with some measure of disgust. Fran's idea, he'd complained.

The man does not enjoy "roughing it," as it were. To fit in with the rest of the slum dwellers, Balthier has had to leave behind his usual fancy clothes in favor of a simple shirt and linen trousers. His flashy jewelry is packed away in the rucksack beneath the cot they sit on at the moment, and the boots are clearly pinching his usually pampered feet. But they are holed up for the night in a shelter for those even more destitute than the usual inhabitants of Old Archades and must look the part.

Ashe frowns at their cramped quarters. They'd checked in as man and wife newly arrived and desperate for work, and she'd been quite amazed at Balthier's ability to switch from his usual clipped, aristocratic tones to the harsher sound of a commoner. He'd sounded weary and desperate rather than confident. Ashe imagined that Balthier would have been at home in the theater had he not pursued a life of crime. She'd remained silent, following the shelter operator and Balthier down to the last row of cots. Only a heavy canvas curtain separates their space from those next to them, but they've been fortunate enough to be placed at the end of the line. Now there is only one set of neighbors to potentially overhear their conversation.

"Be careful," she warns him, placing a hand on his arm. Walking the streets of Old Archades again had been strange. Life had gone on seemingly as usual, and the winter's cold had kept the faces of the residents turned down and away from the two visitors.

He finishes tying the boots and stands. Smiling as he places his hands on her shoulders, Balthier is obviously trying to mask his fear. "Don't worry about me. I know this place like the back of my hand. Just stay put, and we'll be inside before you know it. This will all be over soon."

She inclines her head toward the curtain. "Perhaps I'll make a friend or two."

"Try and stay out of trouble," he mumbles, pulling the curtain aside and sliding it back in place as he departs, leaving her with two cold stone walls and two canvas ones attached to a metal rail. The next hours will be trying for her, and it is far too chilly outside to go for a walk, nor should she risk being seen.

Ashe lays back on her side, counting the myriad stains on the curtain. She is almost asleep with the exhaustion of her days of travel when she hears a whisper from the other side. The voice is feminine, someone younger than her.

"Is your husband gone?"

She shouldn't respond, should pretend she doesn't speak the language, but the voice on the other side seems so desperate for a chat that she can't help herself. "Yes," she replies quietly, reverting to the sound of Bhujerba that had served her well the last time she was in the sprawling capital. "He has gone to find us work."

"Mine has been gone all day. And he's been looking for weeks now, he has," the young woman replies sadly. She barely sounds old enough to be married, but Ashe had been wed at seventeen. It is not so far-fetched. "Now that the Senate's been reinstated, all those big name families can afford to hire more staff. You could probably check there."

Ashe doesn't wish to keep talking, but there is nothing else to do. "Thank you, I will tell my husband when he returns." It is strange to refer to Balthier in such a way, even though it is simply a lie. She and the young woman continue their chat, but she cannot keep the thought of Balthier out in the city from her mind. Has Fran been successful? Will Basch help them?

"Do you…" The young woman hesitates for a moment, and Ashe can hear shuffling on the other side of the woman's curtain. She is grateful to only have one neighbor to worry about. "Do you and your husband have any extra bread? When Malik returns, he is always so tired, and they do not have enough for a man of his size…"

She sits up, wishing she could race to Larsa's palace right now and take plenty for all of those in this shelter. Though Larsa has done so much for his people, it is clear that many still need help. Taking the rucksack from under the cot, she grabs a fistful of their bread. Balthier will probably grab something while he is out meeting Fran since he has money with him, and she is too nervous to be hungry.

Rising to her feet, she pulls the curtain back and is shocked to see that the young woman is barely out of childhood. She cannot be much older than Vaan and Penelo's friend Filo, and Ashe wonders how old her husband is. The girl takes the bread with a grateful smile, folding it up in a filthy handkerchief and placing it on the shoddy table beside her cot. Ashe has not been able to interact with a person other than Balthier or Fran in so long, and conversation seems to come quickly now.

The girl is fifteen and her husband is thirty-three – her parents had arranged the marriage to avoid another mouth to feed, but the husband is a chronic gambler. They'd lost everything a few months earlier, and Ashe wonders if her troubles pale in comparison to the teenager before her. The girl's skin is sallow, and she is shivering under the blankets even though it is warm enough in the shelter because there are so many people.

"Lights out, ladies," a man's voice interrupts moments later. Ashe watches the shadow of the shelter owner on the other side of the curtain, the oil lamps extinguishing and sending the whole place into darkness. She can only hear the girl now, her weakened voice the only tangible connection Ashe has to the others in the shelter. In the distance, she can hear snoring, can smell the sweat and odor of the dozens of bodies crammed into the place as people begin settling in for the night.

Ashe avoids the questions she wants to ask about Dalmasca and whether or not Archadia is doing anything to help. She supposes she will learn more once she can access Draklor. Instead she tells the story she and Balthier planned together during their journey through Sochen, and the lies fill the time adequately. The window beside the cot is so filthy that she can barely see out of it, and she hopes Balthier will return quickly.

She is so engrossed in her conversation that both she and the girl nearly jump from their skins at the sound of clanking metal. Ashe's blood runs cold – a Judge, here? There's no escape – she's at the end of this corridor, and breaking the window and making a run for it would be impossible. Panic sets in, and her new friend seems equally distressed. The girl pulls the curtain with a sharp ringing of the rail, ending their conversation abruptly as the metallic footsteps grow louder.

"This is Judge Arnholm of the third district," booms a noisy male voice at the opposite end of the line, and Ashe closes her eyes to think of what she could do. Hiding under the cot won't exactly work. They'll have lamps. "This is a random security check. Please have your identification papers ready."

Ashe freezes, knowing that she has no fake papers. That is what Balthier is procuring at this very moment from Fran. It doesn't help that the Judges probably know her face. Her friend sounds just as upset, and she can hear the girl fumbling in the dark with bags and other belongings on the other side of the curtain. Her heartbeat grows faster as she hears curtains down the line being ripped open. She worries about Balthier – will they take her away, leaving him to endanger himself further? She knows he'd probably come for her, stubborn fool that he's shown himself to be. Ashe can only hope that Fran will convince him otherwise. She's caused them both enough problems.

The footsteps are louder, and she can now hear the angry voice of the Judge and the sound of his accompanying soldiers' footsteps. A man speaking in a Rozarrian dialect protests, and a woman screams. There is a lot of shuffling, and it appears that the man and woman are being dragged out. The darkness is adding to her anxiety since the only light is the glow of the judges' lamps that she can see at the base of the curtain. The glow inches closer with each passing second, and she wonders if she'll be able to make a break for it.

The curtain on the other side of her new friend opens, and she can hear her friend praying quickly. How strange that after all that has happened, she will be hauled into a dank Archadian holding cell for not having identification papers. The rings click along the rail's track next to her, hurting her ears.

The girl begins to bargain with the judge. "Please, my husband will return soon…"

Ashe hears a loud crack and a howl, and her hands begin to shake. They've struck her – just a girl, and she can do nothing to protest. She will probably be dealt with in similar fashion. The girl is crying noisily now, begging the judges not to take her away. The glow of the light allows her to see shadows, and the jagged outline of judge armor dominates the view behind the curtain. Where is Balthier?

"Judge Arnholm!"

She could cry at the sound. More clanking footsteps join the crowd only footsteps away. "Judge Gabranth, sir," Arnholm stumbles out, and Ashe watches the man back away from her friend. Basch must know she's on the other side, but she cannot risk moving from her place on the cot. She gathers the blanket in her fingers, squeezing the coarse threads in her relief at Basch's timely arrival.

"Who authorized this inspection?" Basch asks angrily, and she remembers the same tone in his voice when he'd confronted Balthier aboard the Strahl. Fran has obviously won him over – unless he is actually here to bring her in?

Judge Arnholm offers a dozen excuses, but Basch chastises him, sending him and his men away in a noisy clash of grinding metal. The curtain is drawn, and she sees Basch holding a lamp up. He's wearing his helmet, and so she cannot see his face to discern what his reaction is to seeing her. But Balthier is just behind him, his face lined with worry, and Ashe knows that she is safe.

The two men enter, pulling the curtain behind them. Balthier leans against the wall, tapping his fingers nervously against his arm as Basch kneels before her. "Good thing our metal-encased friend demanded to see you," Balthier informs her. "I don't much wish to participate in a jail break. At least not at this hour of the night."

"My lady," Basch whispers. "You could have been in serious trouble. Why did you not run?"

"And where would I go?" she asks, wishing that he would take his helmet off. "Are you here to arrest me?"

Balthier clears his throat behind them, and Basch's sigh echoes from inside the metal helm. "I do not approve of any of this," Basch informs her. "But I've spoken with Balthier and Fran and have been apprised of the situation."

Basch seems to grow uncomfortable as Balthier casually sits down on the foot of the bed. Is it so very obvious that she and Balthier have become more than friends? Balthier grins, whether because of his usual nature or because of Basch's discomfort she can't tell. "He's got the passes. We go in tomorrow, and he'll be there performing a routine inspection. He will help."

Ashe reaches for Basch's gloved hand and squeezes it. "I am sorry to have deceived you…"

Finally Basch removes the helmet and looks at her shrewdly, his lips twisting into a frown at her drastically different appearance. "I have only wanted to help you, my lady." She lowers her head in apology, thanking the gods for granting her such steadfast friends in her life. "I will speak with Lord Larsa tonight to keep him aware of what it is we do."

"I thank you," she responds earnestly. Balthier shows her their passes to Draklor, and Basch offers her the lamp to examine them. She and Balthier have been granted temporary access as members of a cleaning crew in a few of the labs within. Ashe smiles at the authorization seal and Basch's own signature on each pass. "I hope you do not lose your place for collaborating with a wanted fugitive."

"Lord Larsa supports you, he always has." Basch rises, not wishing to prolong their conversation and expose their identities. "I also wished to apologize. I did not trust you as I should have. With Hammad and Rozarria, I see now that I was at fault. I should have helped you, not condemned you."

He puts the helmet back on and takes the lamp back, leaving her and Balthier in darkness as he moves to the curtain. "Balthier will let you know the finer details. Good night," Basch whispers as he departs. The curtain is drawn, and she and Balthier are alone once more. She feels his hand on her arm then as he fumbles to find her.

Balthier scoots over, putting his arm around her. "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," he tells her, but his voice is slightly shaking. It had been a very close call with the other judges, and it has obviously set him on edge.

"Trouble seems to follow us, Balthier," she mumbles back, hearing the bed creak as he moves away from her and unlaces the boots. She listens to them thud against the floor, and then she realizes that they hadn't planned what happens next. But he's already up and heading for the curtain.

"I'll go see if they have an extra blanket…"

"Why?"

She imagines that if she could see his face, he'd be smiling. "Well, I don't intend to spend the night on the floor without a blanket, my dear."

The cot is big enough for two so long as they share close quarters. The appropriateness of the situation will just have to be outweighed by the sheer ridiculousness of Balthier having to sleep on the ground. She stands and fluffs the pillow as best she can in the dark, arranging the blanket. "Just…get in here with me," she tells him, trying to sound confident although her heart is racing as it had been when the judges were storming through the place. But for different reasons this time.

Ashe can hear his fingers tapping on the curtain, communicating his own mental debate over the idea of them sharing a one-person bed. She takes a deep breath and lays down on her side, pulling the blanket over herself. Let him decide then. She's made the only offer he's going to get. The mattress dips beneath his weight then, accompanied by a chuckle. "We _are_ supposed to be married, aren't we?" he mutters quietly.

She should be tired, but she is wide awake and alert now. Ashe can hear the soft rustle of fabric and when he lays down behind her, she realizes that he's removed his shirt. They know what one another feels – why is she being so ridiculous about it? They have an important job in the morning, and they both need the rest. Ashe forces her eyes shut and tries to ignore the feel of his warm body behind her. Balthier wraps an arm around her waist, settling his hand firmly on her stomach, holding her against him.

"Good night, Balthier," she whispers and receives a light kiss on her shoulder in reply. But of course, she cannot force sleep upon herself. Balthier is rather well-behaved, more than usual at least. He keeps his hand in place as the minutes tick by. She listens to snores of various volumes all around them and quiet whispers of people further down the line.

A few bunk spaces down, Ashe can hear a creaking that grows steadily louder as the moments pass. Though she is no innocent, it is not a sound she is often privy to. She is used to a quiet night's rest in her own bedchamber. Now she shares quarters with dozens, and it appears that some of those souls are engaging in various activities. Ashe licks her lips, trying to ignore the soft moans that reach her from further down the corridor.

The hand on her stomach begins to move, Balthier's fingers beginning to trace small circles on the skin beneath her blouse. Her chest tightens at the sensation. There are people all around them, but it has not deterred others and it doesn't seem to be deterring Balthier. She feels warm kisses on the back of her neck, and she is unable to stifle a sigh. The creaking down the aisle increases in volume, but no one else in the shelter must be hearing it but her. She wants Balthier, has wanted him for quite some time now, but is this the right time and place?

He continues at a leisurely pace, his hand moving up her blouse to her breast. He gently squeezes and caresses, taking his time with each one although she cannot do much more than focus on breathing and the sound of the creaking cot down the way. "Balthier," she whispers, "not here." She tries to shift slightly, but only ends up arching her hips up and back against him, and he moans quietly at the contact.

Ashe inhales sharply as he moves his hand down quickly to her skirt, running his fingers up her thigh and then between her legs. His touch is still gentle, but she is shaking now from the intimate contact, knowing that there are other people just paces away. They had time alone in Giruvegan, aboard the Strahl, in Sochen…but it is here that something more will finally happen. They will cross a line now and will be unable to return to where they once were. She could end it now, could demand that he stop, but his fingers are deftly parting her, making her ache for his touch. It has been so long, years since she was with Rasler, and he had never paid her such attentions.

She bites her lip hard, holding back a sound of pleasure as he lets his thumb flick across her most sensitive of places, and she can feel his unsteady, warm breaths against her neck. The creaking down the aisle has ceased, but in the distance, it seems that another couple has started on the very same path that she is now on with Balthier.

She cannot help thrusting her hips back against him as he touches her, relishing the sensation as he moves his fingers in and out of her. He must know how long it has been for her, and she can feel him pressing insistently behind her, his breathing growing more and more erratic as she moves back and against him. Hearing the others in the shelter has only been encouraging for Balthier rather than deterring him. He works his hand faster and faster against her until she can barely breathe. She wants to cry out, to let him know what his attentions are doing to her, but she knows she cannot. Perhaps it is this close quarters situation that has Balthier so enticed.

She wants more, can hear stifled moans in the distance and must have him closer still. Ashe raises a shaking hand to halt his hand beneath her skirt. He seems to understand and without words, he leans away, allowing her to turn and lay upon her back. The cot creaks with their movements, and she can hear him fumbling with the clasps of his trousers, the sound amplified in her senses because of her lack of vision. She reaches her hand out and meets the firm, toned skin of his stomach and the waistband of his trousers.

He stills his hands and lets her run her hand along the top of the trousers, her fingers slipping inside the band to feel him. He had been kind enough to be attentive to her own needs, and so she wishes to return the favor, reaching for him as he holds his face in his hands, his lips clumsily finding hers in the dark. Balthier moans quietly against her mouth as she touches him, his fingers tangling in her hair. She is no longer capable of shame, no longer embarrassed because all she knows is the warmth of him and the feel of his kiss as she feels an intense ache between her legs at his absence.

Balthier chuckles quietly, a low rumbling from deep within his throat as she tries to tug on his trousers to pull them down. Their cramped position on the cot is not making this so very easy, and she needs to feel him within her. He moves her trembling hands away and shakes the bed as he tugs the trousers down, discarding them on the floor. Her breaths are shallow as he pulls the blanket back over the both of them, lifting her skirt to bunch up at her waist. Balthier stops abruptly, and she hears footsteps in the corridor and a few noisy coughs.

Her heart is pounding, and the very real possibility of being caught only encourages her more. She waits until the footsteps trail off, then parts her legs nervously, letting him settle in between. He cradles her head in his hands, kissing her forehead gently. "Are you sure?" he whispers beside her ear, giving her one last chance to say no. But his body is warm and hard against her, and she will scream if they are interrupted now.

"The Queen demands it," she teases him, wrapping her arms around him. She feels the taut muscles of his back and shoulders, flesh that is usually hidden away beneath his fancy clothes. He is far stronger than he looks, and she kisses him firmly.

He darts his tongue against her neck teasingly and whispers in her ear once more. "You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that." Balthier strokes her cheek with his fingers, and she knows that he is telling the truth. She lets her worry about her country, about their pending visit to Draklor and the consequences of a relationship with a sky pirate melt away. Ashe kisses him back, letting it mask their moans as he slowly enters her. Even with his attention beforehand, it still aches, and he takes his time.

She breaks the contact of their lips, burying her next cry in the skin of his throat as tears gather in her eyes. She and Rasler had only been together a few times in their precious few months together, and she is embarrassed. Balthier slows his movements. "I'm sorry," he offers in apology, but she parts her legs further and breathes. This may be their only chance for some time and possibly ever, and she won't let her lack of experience slow them down.

"Don't stop," she mumbles, clinging to him. He obeys, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks as he moves within her. The cot creaks the same as the others had, and she imagines that it is obvious to anyone listening what is happening behind their curtains. She moves her hand to the base of his spine, encouraging him to enter her further with each movement of his hips. Balthier keeps one hand beneath her head and the other runs gently up her side and her thigh, caressing as he moves.

She grows used to the sensation, the pain between her legs changing to a more pleasant prickling, and she wonders how long they'll be able to continue their illicit behavior. Ashe can feel the mattress rock beneath her, and Balthier groans as she moves her hips up off the bed to meet his every downward motion. "You'd better quit that, Princess," he whispers in her ear, and she smiles. He retaliates by thrusting hard, making her lose her scream against his mouth.

The coarse blanket slides down his shoulders and onto his back as his movements grow rougher and his breaths become more erratic. The sensation between her legs builds, and she wraps her legs around him, encouraging him to drive deeper. Her breaths catch in her throat, and he sighs, losing himself in her. Whatever noise they are making matters little now as she clings to his sweaty shoulders and inhales the scent of him. Balthier's usual control dissipates, and he moans her name quietly, pushing harder and harder against her.

Has he been with no one else since meeting her? Probably not, but just how long has he waited for her? "Ashe, I need…" he says hoarsely beside her mouth, nearly lifting them both from the mattress in his frenzied motions. It is dizzying to have him so fully within her, her breaths coming quickly to match his own. The darkness around them has only amplified the physical feelings of their coupling, and she feels as though she will burst.

Balthier kisses her roughly, losing his groans against her mouth as their hips rock against each other. He moves against her a final time with a satisfied moan, and she chuckles as he lays his head against her chest. "The demands of a Queen, even in a filthy place like this," he complains, lying heavily atop her. "I don't think I shall move for a week."

She kisses the top of his head, the sounds of coughing and snoring in the shelter around them reminding her of what they've just done and where. Ashe doesn't know if she is ashamed or excited by it all. "Only you would joke at a time like this."

"Perhaps," he replies, finally moving and returning to his original place behind her. He wraps his arm around her and squeezes tightly. "For what it's worth, I do love you."

Her eyes water at his admission, and she pulls his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers. "I wouldn't have let you do all of that if I didn't believe it."

"Liar," he accuses her in a hoarse whisper, lavishing her sweaty shoulder with kisses. "Haven't you always wondered if all the rumors about my reputation had a lick of truth to them?"

She yawns, leaning back against him. "Maybe."

He laughs quietly, his words slurring as he speaks. "I pray it was everything you hoped it would be. I'd surely die if I failed to satisfy a royal. My very first," he admits, giving her a little pinch.

Ashe can feel a buzzing in her head, a dizzying sensation that won't go away for some time. If she'd known before that being with Balthier could feel so wonderful, she'd have surely overstepped the bounds of friendship ages ago. "You've no cause for anxiety. I might have to hire you on at the palace." Her giddiness is infectious.

"Can I choose my own title? How about 'Her Majesty's Bed Warmer?' or 'Keeper of Dalmasca's Most Sacred Treasure'?" he whispers. She chuckles, and he squeezes her tight. "Any excuse to make love to a Queen again. Anyhow, better get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

"You expect me to just sleep after all that, Balthier?" She hears his breathing even out as he lets sleep claim him. Ashe smiles, grateful for the love of the man holding her in the dark slum shelter. Whatever happens tomorrow, she will have the one she wants beside her.


End file.
